


how we react (and how we recover)

by shamefulshameless



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Dave POV, Diego POV, Drug Use, Five POV, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus pov, M/M, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-11-23 16:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamefulshameless/pseuds/shamefulshameless
Summary: With half the unit's eyes trained on him, Klaus starts to talk, all frenzied hands and Cheshire grins and twisted mischief. But it’s not one of his typical, wild tales of parties gone awry and curiosities found in dumpsters. It’s an epic. 43 women miraculously gave birth. A fabulously rich man adopted- the word Klaus uses is “bought”- seven of them, numbered them, and raised them to save the world using their mysterious superpowers.“Number Four. My legal name. Number Four Hargreeves.”“Ain’t on your dog tag.”“Well, I’m getting to that.”Dave hangs back when he tells his stories. Klaus is dangerous for him. He figures there's no harm in listening in, but then again: the others don't watch Klaus like he does.or(Dave falls in love, much too quickly. Klaus tries to find him, much too late. Death isn't what they think it is.)





	1. to ramona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW THEY DONT HAVE PHONES. I KNOW.

_hi brokeback,_

_i know youre not going to see this, but i really need to talk to you. if you could do me a favor and be alive, that would really be very good. i had a bad day today, and that’s not your fault. but it would probably make me feel better if you were here, because it always did. it feels like i can see everyone but you._

_please stop hiding._

 

_hi brokeback,_

_i know youre not going to see this, but i really need to talk to you. if you could do me a favor and be alive, that would really be very good. i had a bad day today, and that’s not your fault. but it would probably make me feel better if you were here, because it always did. it feels like i can see everyone but you._

_please stop hiding._

  
  
  
  
  


It had been a quiet day. Quiet days are hard to come by, and even when they come, they aren’t all that quiet. It just means the noise is further away. Some different kids from different one-horse towns are being blown away. Not his boys, for now.  
  
Dave had learned to sleep through almost anything. He knows that maybe it would be better for his chances of survival if the opposite were true- that he should stay alert and sleep with his boots on and one eye open. There are guys in the unit who do that. But not him. So on a night where the bombs are falling miles away, he knows he’s got a real chance of getting five whole hours. Wouldn’t that be a dream.  
  
He’s laying on his back when it happens. He’d just noticed his cot wobbling; he’s considering whether to get up and fix it or just deal with it and stay in bed.  
  
He isn’t given a choice.  
  
The light comes first, blinding and blue, followed by a sharp _zap!_ Dave’s first thought is that someone in the tent must have found a way to watch The Jetsons.

“ _Dammit!”_ a voice shouts.

 Dave sits halfway up in bed, and is met with- someone. Someone isn’t dressed in anything but a black trench coat and a bath towel, coated in blood and grime. In fact, his entire body is coated in blood and grime (but, then, so is everyone else’s around here). He’s clutching a shiny black briefcase to his chest like a lifeline. He’s also staring at Dave. Really, really staring.

He’s staring at Dave as if he’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen, head cocked to one side like a lost dog. 

Someone’s confused. They’re both confused. Dave is about to speak when-

He’s on the bus. Dave watches Someone stumble up the steps, still wide-eyed, still white-knuckling his briefcase while trying his best to carry a rifle in the other hand. He takes a seat and stares straight ahead, white as a sheet.

Whenever they’re heading out like this, Dave finds himself taking a long look at everyone he can see. He doesn’t want to call it what it is: taking inventory. Considering all these boys, and what they might lose in between now and the bus ride back. Wondering which seats will be empty.

Not this time. He’s too distracted by the pale boy with the huge eyes, shaking in someone else’s boots.

Dave’s never been afraid to make new friends, not even here. He moves up a few seats. “You just get in country?” he asks.

The boy turns. He seems older now that he’s wiped that blank, bewildered look off his face. He seems less confused. Less confused and more scared. He stammers before answering. “Oh. Yeah.”

 “Shit’s crazy, I know,” Dave replies. It’s the same thing the guys told him when he got here. It’s the same thing they always tell each other after losing another friend. What else is there to say? “You’ll adjust,” he adds, but he’s not so sure. Sitting this close, Dave can see that the kid is green. And… wearing ladies’ makeup. That’s going to go over great with the boys.

He introduces himself. The stranger has a strange name, one that makes Dave think about his dad. Whenever he’d get too drunk to mess with Dave or his siblings anymore, he’d pull out his knife. He’d waddle around the house, waving it around, recounting the tale of the one Nazi he knew for certain he’d killed in France. _I got loads of ‘em from a distance! Don’t forget that! But this one- I got this one fuckin’ good, Davey! I made that fucker bleed!_ Every time he told that story, he gave the fucker a name. _I made little Hans beg, boy! I made him beg!_ The name was always different, but Dave is sure that at least once it was-

“Klaus.”

 They shake.

 

_hey should i go to wyoming?_

_feel free to answer anytime_

 

_hey should i go to wyoming?_

_feel free to answer anytime_

  


The next few hours are brown and green and red. By the time they haul themselves back for the ride to camp, Dave feels like the dirty bath towel Klaus arrived in. But as far as he can tell, there aren’t any new empty seats on the bus. He’ll take it.

The new kid is standing in the center of the tent when Dave walks in, turning in a little circle. Still holding his precious briefcase.

“Klaus, right?” Dave gets his attention. “You don’t have a bunk?”

Klaus shakes his head. “No. They must’ve forgot, or something. It’s not like they didn’t know I was coming. I’ve had this vacation planned for weeks.” He cracks a smile, but Dave doesn’t think it’s for him. He laughs anyway.

“There’s an empty cot next to mine. There’s no bedroll, they took it after…” he hopes Klaus can gather what he means. Why the bunk is empty. “Here, I’ll go grab you a new one.” Dave turns on his heel and goes without waiting for Klaus to thank him. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t, anyway. 

When Dave comes back with a bedroll under his arm, he knows there’s something wrong. Klaus is backed up against the canvas wall of the tent, mumbling to himself, his hands clamped over his ears.

“I don’t- I can’t help you. I can’t- shh! Please, please, be quiet. Please, please,” he’s hissing.

He’s on the verge of tears.

 It hasn’t gone unnoticed among the 173rd-  Dave’s three closest friends are in a group by the entrance, discussing what to do about the new guy.

 “He’s fresh meat, man,” Levi’s saying, “He just got a taste for the first time. Cut him some slack.”

“Who gives a shit about fresh if it’s got mad cow disease?” Chaz answers.

“I don’t get it.”

“Because,” Chaz sighs, “‘ _fresh meat.’”_

“I still don’t get it.”

Artie steps out of the clump, towards Klaus, who by now has sunk to the floor. “Hey. Hey, newbie. You cool?” Klaus doesn’t seem to hear anything besides whatever’s going on in his head. Artie adjusts his glasses and turns back to Levi and Chaz. “Nobody knows this cat’s name, right?”

Dave pipes up, “Yeah. Hold on. I got him covered.” He sets down Klaus’ supplies on the empty cot. He sighs, and squats down next to him, trying to ignore the sputtering and shushing. “Klaus.”

Klaus glances at him, an _I’m busy_ look in his eye. Not a crazy look. Crazed, maybe. But not crazy.

“Klaus. Got a last name? I don’t see any tags on you.” Again, he gets nothing. Dave looks to Chaz, Levi, and Artie, silently asking for advice. He gets none. Klaus has buried his face in his hands. He’s mumbling, carrying on a conversation, but Dave can’t make it out. After a solid minute, he looks back up.

“Hey there,” he croaks, “Sorry about that. I was having a bit of a disagreement. Dan, right?”

“Dave.”

“Dave. Sorry. Dave, Dave, Dave. I’ll remember.”

“It’s alr-“

“Great. So, Dave.” Klaus is looking at him from underneath his lashes, his dark makeup smudged and blending in with the heavy circles under his eyes. He looks like a raccoon. “Darling Dave, I have a question. Quite a few questions, actually.”

“Ask away. The first day is hectic, I wish I’d had someone I could get answers from. It would’ve set me up real nice for where I am now. Oh… Jeez, Klaus, your ear is bleeding.”

Klaus shoots up a hand, swipes a finger below his ear, and examines the blood dripping from it. “Oh, that. That’s from a different thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? ‘Cause if you blew an eardrum-“

“No, no, nothing like that. Just don’t even think about it. Here,” he stops the trickle of blood by sticking the same finger straight into his ear. “It’s like it never happened.” Klaus presses on. “So, Dave, tell me. What’s today’s date?”

“September third.”

“September third,” he repeats, nodding. “And, what year’s that again?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Um, y’know. What year is it? I’m a little rattled from the whole- battle, y’know. Seemed to have knocked a few screws loose. So I’d love it, Dave, if you could just fill me in real quick on what year it is and where we are. Specifically,” he forces out his words like they hurt to say. He’s still shaking. His finger is still sticking out his ear.

“It’s 1968. In the A Shau Valley.” For safety, he adds, “...Vietnam.”

“Ah. Okay. That checks out,” he curses and puts his head back in his hands. He takes another moment, and looks up again. “Dave. One more question. It’s a tad… clandestine.”

His face has gone dark. Darker.

His mouth suddenly dry, Dave’s almost afraid to ask, but he does. “What is it?”

 “Do you happen to know where I might be able to, how do I put this pleasantly…. get well? You know what I mean?” Klaus chuckles, too lighthearted, “Turn down the volume on this- whole thing?” He gestured vaguely to the tent.

“You mean drugs.”

“No need to act so disappointed,” Klaus replies after noting Dave’s tone, “I never paid much attention to this shit as a kid, but I do know everyone in every war is plastered as all hell. And I need in. Unless you want me crowded against this wall until Kennedy goes boom.”

Dave flinches and checks to see no one else is listening. “Whoa. It’s been three months, man, don’t be saying shit like that. Artie over there’s real sensitive about the Kennedy brothers.”

Klaus mutters something to himself about 1968, and how he really should have paid better attention if he’s getting his Kennedys mixed up. How can anyone _mix up_ the Kennedys, Dave thinks.

However, he knows an addict when he sees one. His father. A few cousins. The bottle runs in the family. Either that, or living in a town as small as his leads to alcoholism as a salve for sheer and utter boredom. The place is chock-full of them.

He hadn’t met a drug addict before basic training. There he’d met Larry, a twerp even scrawnier than Klaus, his skin dotted with marks left by countless needles. He’d asked Larry how he was allowed past the physical exam, with drugs in his system.

“Are you kidding?” Larry had snorted. “They fudge half those forms. They need us here. They don’t actually care what shit we got inside us, long as we got arches on our feet.”

He’d heard talk after arriving in ‘Nam. Someone’s got this, someone’s selling that. He sees boys strung out, laying in their gear with their eyes glazed over. They didn’t sign up for this. They’re just trying to get through it any way they can. Dave thinks Klaus must be the same. To a certain degree, Dave’s that way, too. He sighs.

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah. I know a guy. Over there, with the tattoo of a monkey on his wrist. His name’s Levi. He’s a buddy of mine. He doesn’t sell, but he’ll know who does.”

Klaus looks as though he’s seen the face of God. He slaps his hands on either side of Dave’s face and pulls him in.“Thank you!” he exclaims, close enough that Dave can feel his breath on his cheeks. Klaus straightens up and heads over to Levi without another word.

Dave lowers himself all the way to the ground. His cheeks are stinging. No, that can’t be right. They’re not stinging, they’re burning with embarrassment. And probably fear. People are looking at him.

Richardson lopes over, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Huh a kwur?” he gurgles out.

Dave looks up, tries to ignore his nails digging into his palms of their own accord. “What’s that?” he manages.

Richardson’s the biggest guy in the unit. He was a farmhand before the war, and he looks it. He doesn’t enjoy being here- no one does- but Dave knows that there’s nothing any of them could do to hold him back, if they ever had to. In short, war suits him. He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. “He a queer?” he asks again.

“No,” Dave answers quickly, “he’s just new. You know how it is the first few days.” Richardson raises his eyebrows. Dave goes on, “Like how the first night I was here I wouldn’t stop whispering. Thought that was what I was supposed to do, everyone thought I was a freak. You’re not yourself. That’s all. He’s good.”

Richardson shrugs and turns away without another word. Dave feels his shoulders collapse, unaware he’d been tensing them in the first place. He’s been so careful. He doesn’t mind the guy, but he’s not going to let Klaus get him into trouble. The hands on his face seemed harmless, and it still caused a scene. Next time, maybe he wouldn’t be so lucky. Dave’s life is hard enough as it is.

 

_brokeback-_

_i bought a bus ticket to wyoming. i didnt go._

_please answer_

 

_brokeback-_

_i bought a bus ticket to wyoming. i didnt go._

_please answer_

  


He spends the next few days avoiding Klaus, just to be safe. But, the more he starts to fit in, the more Dave doesn’t want to. Queer or not, Klaus is a nice guy, and he’s funny as hell. That’s the first thing Dave really learns about him, once he’s stopped shaking and talking to imaginary friends. No matter what they see in the field, Klaus can make a joke about it. He starts drawing people in- he’s magnetic.

Dave catches himself watching Klaus talk. Now, much of the little downtime they have is spent with four or five soldiers huddled around Hargreeves, who spins tales, and cracks wise, and flails his arms while he does. It’s like he’s swatting an invisible swarm of mosquitoes, or conducting an orchestra. And the way he talks- as if he knows something the rest of them don’t. Dave can’t stop looking at him, which is the first sign he’s in trouble. 

It’s been four days since he showed up at Dave’s feet, and despite the threat that Klaus poses, Dave decides that there’s nothing wrong with having a friend. Nothing queer about that. Everybody else likes Klaus, too, after all. (Dave knows he’s lying to himself. He doesn’t watch Klaus the way Artie or Levi do.)

They’re settling in for the night when Dave reaches out, silencing the voice in his head telling him not to. “Klaus,” he says as he unlaces his boots, “that a German name?”

Klaus furrows his brows. He’s not wearing makeup anymore, but even in his new uniform, with his scruff growing out, he still looks more like a girl than any guy here. “I suppose. I’m adopted, I’m not sure what I am. That’s just my name.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but decides against it. He points a finger. “You’re not the first person to ask me that. I take it the _fellas_ don’t take too kindly to Germans?”

Dave chuckles. “Sorry about that. You know how it goes. Twenty four years ain’t a long time.”

“Twenty four years?”

“Since D-Day.”

“Oh. Oh!” Klaus nods. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense. Too soon. Like the Kennedys, right? Too soon, Klaus.” He waves a hand at Dave’s puzzled expression. “Don’t worry about it. I talk nonsense.”

“Right,” Dave nods. By now, Klaus has leaned back on his cot, staring up at the makeshift ceiling, his arms up behind his head. Dave doesn’t want to stop talking to him (Uh-oh). He should probably call it a night and never look at Klaus again, with his huge eyes and wild limbs and constant gibberish. That would probably be a good idea.

“Neat bracelet,” he says instead.

“Bracelet?” Klaus almost flinches, and examines his wrists. “Oh. This. I forgot I was wearing it. It’s nothing.”

It’s an odd looking thing- a thick, shiny, white band that wraps tightly around his wrist, covered in black lettering and a pattern of vertical lines. The words are too small to make out, apart from HARGREEVES, KLAUS smack dab in the center. Its owner seems alarmed to see it, to the point where he rushes to grab his knife from under his bed and cut it off.

Dave chuckles again despite himself. “What’d it do to you?”

“Oh, David,” Klaus coos, and it’s almost unfair, “I am not one to be shackled. That is a handcuff, binding me to my many, many failures.” There’s humor in his voice, just like always. There’s disappointment, too. And something grim.

He understands what Klaus means, or he thinks he does. Lots of guys have little trinkets from home; a picture of their girl, their favorite record, or even just a pair of socks that reminds them of home. Dave doesn’t have anything like that. There’s nothing he’d like more than to leave this valley, but he doesn’t want to go home, either, not even in his mind. He was ready to leave that all behind the second he got his draft card in the mail.

Maybe Klaus isn’t so strange after all- he’s a lost soul like everyone else here. He’s just better at hiding it. Dave has a fucking crush on him.

“Things weren’t so good at home, I guess, Hargreeves?” he asks. Klaus’ head snaps up.

“A bold question, Private,” he replies with a quirk of his brow. Dave waits.

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Klaus goes on, “My dad was a hardass, my brothers and sisters don’t like me very much, you know how it goes.” He gestures to himself. “Black sheep. I guess you could also say I wasn’t the easiest kid in the world, but who would be? Given the circumstances.”

“You lost me there, man,” Dave confesses. He gets waved off again. “Hey, don’t worry,” he says instead of making Klaus speak more on the subject, “I hated it back home, too. I get along with my siblings just fine, but if you wanna talk hardass dads, you’ve come to the right place.”

Klaus laughs dryly. “Shitty dad, huh? There is nothing certain in life except death, paying taxes, and shitty dads. Fucking timeless!”

They get cut off by a distant explosion, and a yell from outside the tent that means they won’t be getting sleep tonight. As they’re re-lacing their boots, scrambling to prepare for hours or days of blood and mud, Dave notices for the first time a word, screaming out at him from his new friend’s hand.

 

**HELLO**

 

Dave smiles.

 

_brokeback,_

_why didnt you ever ask me to explain the nickname? not that id have told you the truth if you did. i’ll explain it if you come here now. i promise_

 

_brokeback,_

_why didnt you ever ask me to explain the nickname? not that id have told you the truth if you did. i’ll explain it if you come here now. i promise_

  


Klaus loves to tell stories. Moments of silence in the 173rd Airborne no longer exist- whenever there’s a lull, Hargreeves pipes up.

“Y’know, me and my sister used to sneak out and pay a hundred bucks for someone to smear mud on our faces. If I’d known it was this easy, I’d have shown up here way earlier.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I threw up on The Today Show? I was sixteen. The Today Show exists now, right?”

 “If a bear and a shark had a fight, who would win?”

Levi and Chaz think he’s a moron. “Hargreeves,” they ask him once over supper, “How’d you escape? You know. From the asylum?”

Klaus seems to consider the question. “If I told you, you’d lose your mind.” Levi and Chaz _really_ think he’s a moron, but they like him anyway. It becomes a bit of a running joke.

On patrol: “Hargreeves, how’d you escape from the asylum?”

“Darling, I run the asylum.”

Setting up camp: “How’d you bust out, Hargreeves?”

“My escape involved a lude seduction, a display of illegal fireworks, and a Tibetan cactus.”

Over a cigarette: “Go on. Remind us how you broke out the loonybin.”

“Shaved my goatee, grew my hair out, told the guard I was Bob Dylan. Didn’t even question it.”

 “Ah, bullshit. If he thought you were Bob Dylan, he’d keep you in there.”

Amid the laughter, Dave catches Klaus’ eye. He raises his eyebrows. _This okay with you?_ Klaus shrugs, slaps Dave’s shoulder. “Boys, I believe all this teasing has Private Katz concerned about me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave chuckles and tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks, “Real concerned.”

“He is!” Klaus gasps. “He’s defending my honor. Well, David, there’s absolutely nothing these scoundrels could say that would offend me. There’s not one thing in the world people haven’t said about me.” Dave believes him.

Despite his popularity among the other guys around the base, Klaus still hovers around Dave the most. When they talk apart from the group, Klaus is different- still bold and badly behaved, but so, so much softer. They’re good friends before long, better friends than Dave has had since school. Except for the fact that every time he sees Klaus his heart sort of expands into his knees.

He tries to ignore it, but how can he when Klaus pulls him aside so often to converse in private. How can he when every time the bombs fall, he and Klaus automatically pair off, or when they shoot behind the sandbags side by side. Every time.

  


_please answer please please_

 

_please answer please please_

  


Klaus’ stories get more and more frequent after Artie gets shot.

Everyone is silent while the medics work on him, even Klaus. Artie is the only one that everyone likes, even jarhead Richardson. But more than that, Artie reminds them all of how much this war is taking for itself. He’s an aspiring poet- Artie the Artist, they call him- who doesn’t shoot his gun if he can’t help it. He huddles over a small leather notebook most nights. He and Klaus get along. He and everyone get along. He shouldn’t be here.

Levi finally has had enough, and marches out of the tent to find out what’s happening. This isn’t like when they’ve lost guys before, when they keep their heads down and try to move on. This feels too real.

Artie lives for six more days. At first, they think he’s going to be okay. He was shot in the leg, up high where the blood doesn’t stop once it starts. They all gripe when they find out they’re not sending him home. No, he’s going to stay until he can walk again, and then they’re throwing him back out into the shit.

Amidst the yelling- “He’s fucking nineteen years old!” “If I was him, I’d run. Soon as I could walk, I’d run.”- Klaus has his chin resting on his knees. He likes to sit on the floor. According to him, it helps him focus. As if he knows he’s being watched, he looks back at Dave. “Artie likes comic books, right? Captain America, Batman?”

“Yeah,” Dave replies slowly, “He won’t admit it. Ruins the whole ‘profound artist’ bag he’s got going. But he keeps a couple of ‘em under his bunk.”

Without another word, Klaus storms out of the tent.

He comes back after almost two hours. He sits on his bunk, facing Dave. “Shitty dads, right?” he says with his teeth gritted around a cigarette. “Death, taxes, and shitty dads."

“Where were you? I was gonna start looking for you if you didn’t come back soon.”

“Of course you were. Always the gentleman.”

(Sometimes, Dave is sure that Klaus knows how he feels about him. Those green eyes have caught him looking one too many times. But, mercifully, he never says anything. He allows Dave his silent stares.) 

“I went to see Artie,” he goes on, “Then I needed to get really high. Now I’m back.”

Four days before Artie dies, he hobbles into the barracks himself, leaning on a crutch with his left arm and Levi with his right. Shouts of concern ring out.

“It’s okay,” Levi spares Artie from having to answer. “Doc said he’s fine to relax in here for a few minutes. There’s, uh, there’s something he wants to do.” He looks to Artie. “What the hell is it, exactly?”

Artie takes a deep breath- he doesn’t know, but the infection spreading through him is what’s making it hard to speak- and calls out:

“Number Four.” 

Dave looks around, and sees faces that mirror his. _What?_

From behind him, he hears Klaus answer. “Yeah, Art. Over here.” 

Artie trains a determined eye on him. “I wanna hear more about The Umbrella Academy.” 

They all gather in a circle around Klaus’ cot, where Artie lay. Klaus sits at the foot. They explain to the group how, when Klaus had gone to visit Artie two days earlier, he’d come with a gift. A story to add to his collection.

“Hargreeves here is a superhero, y’see.” 

Richardson snorts. “What, like Batman?”

“Hm,” Klaus presses his lips together. “My compatriot in several ways. But my mansion’s nicer.”

He starts to talk the way he always does, all frenzied hands and Cheshire grins and twisted mischief. But it’s not one of his typical, wild tales about parties gone awry and curiosities found in dumpsters. It’s an epic. 

All on the same day, forty three extremely not-pregnant women miraculously gave birth. A fabulously rich man adopted- the word Klaus uses is “bought”- seven of them, numbered them accordingly, and raised them to save the world using their mysterious superpowers.

“Number Four. My legal name. Number Four Hargreeves.”

“Ain’t on your dog tag.” 

“Well, I’m getting to that.” 

As the tale goes along, (Artie nods at the parts Klaus had told him before, and even chimes in occasionally: “Oh, tell them about the Eiffel Tower!”) Dave starts to think Klaus should be a writer. The details are so vivid and specific, you’d think he’d actually seen them go down.

He finishes the tale of a thwarted kidnapping with a flourish. “That was the first night I snuck out. I’d saved three hostages and no one gave me so much as a clap on the shoulder. So I declared ‘fuck this’ and set out to see what kind of mis- _chief_ I could get my paws dirty with.”

Dave realizes that everyone is leaning forward. “Damn,” Levi breathes. “No wonder you’re such a fuckin’ psycho.”

For the next three nights, Klaus regales them with fantastical stories about The Umbrella Academy, who fought crime and fought each other, growing up like soldiers in a mansion run by a robot and a talking monkey.

Artie dies. Klaus keeps telling the stories without him.

 

_do you remember that first time we snuck out? and i got mad at you for staring (sorry) then we sat up against that tree and you told me you trusted me. you said it like it was nothing but i fell in love with you on the spot. i fell so fast i scraped my knees._

_then a spider bit me._

 

_do you remember that first time we snuck out? and i got mad at you for staring (sorry) then we sat up against that tree and you told me you trusted me. you said it like it was nothing but i fell in love with you on the spot. i fell so fast i scraped my knees._

_then a spider bit me._

  


“Hargreeves! How’d you get outta the asylum?”

“With my superpowers. Obviously.”

They’re trudging through the muddy jungle. Dave doesn’t remember what dry socks feel like. They’ve been walking for almost a week, and he swears they’ve been told why, but for the life of him he can’t think of it. 

It’s miserable, except for when it’s not.

It’s not miserable at night, when they’ve set up camp and have a moment to smoke and stretch. Or when they’re settling in, and talk more about the Academy. It’s not miserable at all when they go to sleep, because they don’t have any beds. Instead, they sleep sitting up, in pairs, leaning against each other’s backs, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. Dave and Klaus come to a wordless agreement that they sleep together.

Trying to sleep, between Klaus’ bony spine digging into his back and the endless nightmares that leave him twitching and muttering in Dave’s ear all through the night, should be miserable.

Instead, Dave feels _lucky._ Pressed against Klaus in the stifling wet air, he breathes so deeply.

He’s never been a relaxed person. He’s lived his life in fear that if he takes his guard down, he’ll pay for it, sorely. But Klaus has a way about him- when he’s around, the wall Dave’s built up cracks, little by little. It scares him- he could become addicted to that freedom and overstep his bounds. Still, even though he doesn’t know whether Klaus feels the same way, or if he even likes men, he’ll take what he can get. So on nights like this, he lets himself breathe. He falls asleep easier than he had at back at camp, or even at home.

 He’s jostled awake and almost falls over when Klaus suddenly sits up and buries his head between his knees. Dave whirls around, disoriented. “Klaus?” he whispers. “You alright?”

This is the closest he’s looked to how he did on that first day, huddled against the sides of the tent.

“Klaus, hey. Hey, look at me. It’s okay.” Thankfully, no one else is awake to see how Dave (boldly, in his opinion) rubs his hand up and down the length of Klaus’ back. “Deep breaths. You’ll only make it worse.”

After a few minutes of gentle shushing, Klaus looks up with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We all get nightmares, man. Nothing to worry about.”

Klaus smiles grimly. “You got no idea.”

Not sure how to respond, Dave hears himself suggest they step outside the tent for some air.

 Once they’re at least fifty yards from camp, Klaus sits on the ground, leaned up against a palmetto tree. He digs around in his pocket and produces two cigarettes. “Smoke?” he holds one out to Dave.

They sit leaned up against that tree for what feels like hours, Dave becoming less and less afraid to watch Klaus as he smokes, rubs his eyes, ruffles his hair. He hears a breath catch in Klaus’ throat. “Why do you do that?” he asks, his voice on edge.

“Do what?”

Klaus studies the damp and dirty earth covering his boot. “Stare at me. You give me this look, and you think I don’t notice, and I do.”

 “Oh,” Dave’s ears are burning. He decides to play it off casually. “Well, you’re not exactly a run-of-the-mill grunt, _Number Four_.”

 “Don’t call me that,” Klaus says quickly. “Sorry. Just- please don’t.” His eyes are hard; he’s not kidding.

 There’s more silence, save for the endless ringing of cicadas and the drip-drip-drip of the soft rain that they don’t even notice anymore.

 “Do you wanna talk about your dreams?” Dave tests the waters.

 “Not especially.”

 Despite having been caught, Dave looks again at the man sitting next to him. He has ten thousand things he’d like to say, and absolutely no words he knows how to use in order to say them.

Dave has been with boys before; first as a joke with some friends in a barn at thirteen. It was a game, they messed around once and never did again, never even spoke of it now. But Dave never was able to outgrow that feeling.

 He got caught at 23, mid-fuck with a man he met in the park. He’s been stupid enough to take him home, and his dad nearly did to Dave what he’d done to that Nazi in France. He hadn’t gone home since.

 Yet even among those men, there hadn’t been anyone. No one special, no one he felt comfortable around. Those men were secrets, and Dave liked them that way. But Klaus… he didn’t want him to be a secret. He wanted to open himself up and spill his contents out into the air for Klaus to see and feel and react to. He wanted to see him smile again.

 He can’t say any of this.

 Instead he says, “What made you get those?”

 Klaus follows Dave’s gaze down to his palms. “These? It’s a long story. I snuck out of the house once when I was seventeen. My dad had just reamed me out for an hour straight about some bullshit I’m sure I did. I got high and I thought these would be fucked up-funny. I only got them to piss him off, which they totally did. Huh. I suppose it’s not that long a story. They hurt like motherfuckers, I’ll tell you that much.”

 “What about the umbrella?”

 For a moment, it seems like Klaus doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “The umb- oh. Yeah, that one.” He twists his wrist, like he’s trying to wriggle away from the faded image that lives on it. “That actually _is_ a long story.”

 “Does it have anything to do with your fairy tales?”

 Klaus bobs his head from side to side. “You could say that.” Before Dave can ask anything else, Klaus turns the conversation around. “What about you? I’m sure you’ve got some fascinating stories waiting to be told.”

 Dave laughs quietly. “Can’t say I do.”

 “Can I guess?” Klaus grins his twisted grin and doesn’t wait for an answer. “You were born in the Midwest- Wisconsin or Montana or something. Small town boy, American as apple pie. Homecoming king, Mama’s boy, you got some sweet little blonde thing waiting for you back home.” He clutches his hands to his heart and throws back his head in mock agony. “‘Oh, Sally Mae!’” he cries, far too loud, “‘One of these days, I’m-a comin’ back to you, baby! Just you wait and see.’ She’s a keeper, Dave, she really is. If you can get past the dead tooth. But no one’s perfect.”

 Dave’s laughing, laughing till he’s wheezing. “That’s not far off, actually,” he chokes out. “Except for Sally Mae.”

 “Don’t tell me her name’s Jenny, I’ll simply die. You’re not from Alabama, are you?” Like a lot of what Klaus says, this registers to Dave as nonsense.

 “No,” he laughs, “You hearing an accent?”

 “Touché. So, no girl back home for you?”

 “No,” Dave swallows thickly, “And you? Got a girl?”

 “Oh yeah. Thousands. I’m knee deep in it, brother,” Klaus snorts. “You have met me, haven’t you? Do I seem like the girlfriend type?”

 It’s the least helpful answer Dave could have gotten. _Not the girlfriend type_ could mean anything. Maybe it means yes, Klaus does prefer men- best case scenario- but perhaps his flamboyant attitude is a result of his hard-partying, big city lifestyle. A lifestyle that, as far as Dave knows, could include a new girl every night- that’s worst case scenario. “Touché to you, too, then,” Dave says. He doesn’t look at Klaus this time.

There’s even more silence after that. The tension in the air is in Dave’s head, he’s sure of it. His mind wanders to where it always does in moments like this: even if Klaus is… like him, who’s to say he’s interested. Dave is boring. Dave is dumb. Dave is dull and beige in all the places that Klaus is extraordinary.

While he ruminates on his hopelessness, Klaus’ head is clearly someplace else entirely. He takes a deep inhale and shakes out: “You think we’re gonna make it?”

 “Make it?”

 “You know. Live through this shit. Do you think I’m going to end up… _dying_ _in the Vietnam War?”_ He sounds so incredulous, like it hasn’t been the fear at the forefront of every boy’s mind for the past half decade.

There’s no honest answer that will reassure him. “What do you want me to- I’m not gonna say no, Klaus. I can’t answer that. We’re all just out here trying to shoot our way home, me included. I’m as scared as you are. Every day, man, so I don’t know what to say to that. But I do know that… well, of everyone I’ve met, you’re the one I trust the most. We’ve got each other’s backs, right? So if I’m going home, you’re going home.”

Klaus is looking at him the same way he did that first night, in his filthy bath towel. Wide-eyed and lost.

 “What? I say something wrong?”

 “No. No!” Klaus is gathering himself; Dave’s never seen him caught so off guard since they met. “It’s just that no one’s ever really- I’m sort of used to being unreliable. People don’t trust me like that. Not at all.”

“I don’t think I’m making a mistake, trusting you.”

“I don’t think so either.”

No one would see it. If he decided to close the ever-shrinking gap between them right now, no one would ever know. Klaus is looking at him so brightly, expectantly. If Dave was as brave as Klaus, he’d probably do it, but then again, it’s not like he’s making a move, either. So there they sit. Two boys covered in mud. An open space between them.

  


_what happened to if i go home , you go home ? huh?? i held up my side of the deal. you fucking bitch._

 

_what happened to if i go home , you go home ? huh?? i held up my side of the deal. you fucking bitch._

  
  


Things aren’t ever the same between Dave and Klaus after that. They’re both more distant than they’ve been, and closer than ever. They gravitate towards each other, then bob away once things get to be too much. He still stares at Klaus, more than he used to, even. And now those stares are returned. When he catches Klaus studying him, he doesn’t look enamored. He looks _hungry._

Dave hopes he doesn’t look like that when he looks back. He probably does.

He dreams of him all the time now, too. Klaus wrapped around him in his bunk with the rain drip drip dripping onto his back, or in his bed back home, or in an elevator or on a bus. He wakes up and he can feel the ghost of curls underneath his chin.

He begins to star in Dave’s nightmares. His dad catches him with Klaus that day, and Klaus is the one who walks away with a broken leg and a punctured spleen. A landmine goes off, one that Dave should have _seen,_ and all that’s left of Klaus is a singed hand. Where it used to read **HELLO** is now emblazoned, clear as day: **YOUR FAULT.**

Even The Umbrella Academy appears in his dreams. Klaus in a superhero’s outfit and cape, blowing smoke into his ear. _“You dead, sweetheart?”_

It’s exhausting. 

But he’s not alone when he’s forced awake by the dreams. There’s one other soldier in the unit who tends to sleep uneasily.

So he and his nightmare start to go on walks almost every night. They talk until they can’t anymore. They find a spot near camp they like: a clearing just past the treeline, well covered from the ground, but with a clear view of the stars.

There are certain topics they avoid now: romance and sex being both of them. Tonight, the topic is good news.

“Did you hear we’re getting time off?”

Klaus’ head snaps to attention. He didn’t know.

“We get to fuck around for a few days,” Dave chuckles. “Should be fun.”

“Where?”

“Saigon.”

  


_soul kitchen is playing in this diner. stop me from breaking a window._

 

_soul kitchen is playing in this diner. stop me from breaking a window._

  


Fortunately for Dave, Klaus is an even worse dancer than he is. He’s all elbows and knees, literally shoving a few girls off the dance floor. It doesn’t stop him for even a second.

They bump into each other. “Careful, Hargreeves, you’re leaving a wake of destruction here.”

Klaus puts down the fist he’d been waving. “If I had a nickel!” he cries.

They get drinks. They get more drinks. They get drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks. They dance with girls, and yes, Klaus is definitely looking over his girl’s shoulder to meet Dave’s eye.

They do shots arm in arm, and after Dave screws his eyes back open, he sees that hungry gaze again. “Excuse me, girls and Chaz,” Klaus announces. “Private Katz owes me money and I need to buy another drink with _something_.”

He waves Dave over, and begins to weave through the crowd, past a beaded curtain that Dave hadn’t noticed before now. He leans against the wall. ”This’ll do.”

From his pocket, Klaus produces a long, comically thick joint. “Care to join?”

The joint, which Klaus had apparently been saving for a special occasion, is strong. So strong that even he has to put it down after four or five hits.

The soft buzzing Dave feels around the edge of each of his senses is surreal; he’s never been this high. “Hey Klaus,” he mumbles.

Klaus giggles, actually giggles. “Yeah-hmm?” 

“Why were you in a towel the night we met?”

“Oh. Y’know.”

“...No, I don’t.”

Klaus laughs again and takes a swig of his drink. “And there was this blue light, remember? D’you know what that was?” Dave presses.

“Oh, that. I’m from the future.” He relights the joint. “That’s just how it goes sometimes.”

“Okay, don’t tell me. I was just curious.”

Klaus shifts so that his left shoulder leans against the wall, where he can face Dave. “You can ask me anything else. Promise.” He takes another long pull, which would make anyone else in the world cough up a lung. But not Klaus, who blows the smoke out the side of his mouth like it’s warm breath on a snowy day.

“Alright, I have a question,” Dave starts, “It’s not a fun one.” Klaus raises an eyebrow.

“When did you start all this? The drugs." 

At that, Klaus turns away, back against the sticky wall. He looks down into his drink, then front towards nothing in particular. “In my early teens. I felt like it was the only thing that could help me through my many wonderful issues. It definitely worked better than my family ever did. Fuck, they never even tried.”

“Too busy saving the world, right?” Dave smiles.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Klaus snorts again, starts laughing till his shoulders shake. “Bunch of dickholes.”

They’re both laughing now, at nothing, at each other, at ‘dickholes’. They’re just laughing. When they’ve caught their breath, Dave asks how often Klaus gets high now, to which Klaus shakes his head loosely. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to get wasted around here? I haven’t been sober since my first day- Oh, don’t give me that look. You’d be shocked, absolutely shocked if you knew how many of your _bros_ were off their ass 24/7.” He sighs. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t go crazy with the dosage like I do at home. I just need enough to take the edge off. If I was as loaded as I’d like to be, Charlie would get a bullet in my brain like that,” he snaps his fingers. “And if I stopped altogether… we wouldn’t want that, either. Trust me.”

He sounds detached. He knows these horrible things are true, and doesn’t feel the need to be sad about them. The way he talks about addiction is like the verbal form of a shrug. It is what it is.

“Does that bother you?” Klaus asks, and now it sounds like maybe he does care.

Dave shakes his head. “I get it. I’ve never done anything very strong, but my Dad drank. He uh, well, he drank a lot. I never knew why, exactly, but I think it was probably just to forget.”

“I thought you didn’t like your dad.”

“I don’t.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I don’t mean that you’re like him! That’s not- sorry, no. You know what I’m trying to say.” He hears Klaus laughing at him.

“I do,” he replies, mercifully. “Don’t worry. Unfortunately for little old me, though, nothing ever makes me forget. I just want to hear a little less. The world’s too loud for me.”

“Can’t be fun being here, then.”

“You have no idea.” He faces Dave again. “But everything has its upsides.”

Dave doesn’t need to turn towards Klaus to know how he’s being looked at now.

It’s all he wants, all he’s wanted for months. And now he knows that the feeling is mutual, he’s known it since the first time they’d snuck out- so why is he still hiding? If he were to wrap Klaus in his arms this second and carry him off to some hotel room or supply closet or the fucking middle of the street he knows he wouldn’t hear a word of protest. But Dave’s stuck to the wall. It’s too dangerous, and it’s too much. Klaus is too much.

But at the same time, if he does nothing, then what? He’ll spend the rest of his tour cursing himself for wasting the only opportunity he’d ever gotten to have something real. And if something happened to Klaus, Dave would watch them haul away the plain wooden casket and feel… he doesn’t know what he’d feel. It would be bad, bad, bad.

Like it so often does, Klaus’ voice cuts through his thoughts like a light through fog. “Dave.”

He gathers the courage to look Klaus in the eye. The expression on his face makes Dave’s decision for him. There’s absolutely no going back.

“I’ve never been very good at saying how I feel,” Klaus tells him softly. “Are you good at that?”

It’s a plea, and an invitation. Dave reaches out and cups his hand around Klaus’ face. He feels him melt under his touch, and then they’re kissing, and it’s unlike anything Dave ever imagined with Klaus (he’s imagined a lot). It’s soft, and light, and golden, and it’s Klaus. Actually Klaus. Finally.

 

_the first time we kissed i didn’t believe it was happening. i kept my eyes open._

_did you notice?_

 

_the first time we kissed i didn’t believe it was happening. i kept my eyes open._

_did you notice?_

 

They both smile more, so much that people notice. No one puts it all together- or at least Dave doesn’t think so- but they both get comments here and there. _The sun come out, Katz? Nope. So let me know what the hell you’re grinnin’ at._

They shrug it off fairly easily, and they run away more. Not just to the spot by the treeline, though that’s always a good standby. They go farther and farther from camp every night, where they can whoop and yell and do whatever they like with no one to say a word.

When they’re on patrol, it’s even better. They sleep back to back, or, more accurately, they pretend to until the coast is clear and then they leave.

Klaus, Dave discovers, loves to kiss. It’s not news, exactly- he remembers seeing Klaus assemble his gun in under two minutes for the first time and kiss the barrel, and seeing him send a kiss to the sky after helicopters pass, or kiss the side of a bowl when he’s hungry, a flask when he’s hankering. Now that Dave is his, he never lets go.

When there aren’t any prying eyes to see, Dave feels like he hardly gets a second without Klaus’ lips somewhere on his body. He won’t complain.

“You’re from the Midwest, right?” Klaus asks one night. He’s wrapped around Dave like a spider monkey as they sit on the damp ground of a clearing. “Why can’t I remember which state?”

“Because I never told you. Wyoming.”

Klaus lights up like a kid in a candy store. “No shit! Wyoming?”

“Yeah, it’s terrible out there. You’re the only person in the history of the world to get excited at the word ‘Wyoming’.”

“Ooh, maybe in your history,” he smirks, “But not in mine.” Dave doesn’t need to ask what he means when he says shit like that; it’s Klaus-speak. It’s nonsense and it’s captivating.

Klaus bunches the front of Dave’s vest in his fists. “Dave Del Mar, huh? I’m calling you Brokeback.”

“Brokeback? What’s Brokeback?”

“I’m from the future, remember?” He cackles. “Wy-fuckin-oming!”

“Klaus- "

Klaus pulls him down into another searing kiss and he forgets what his question was. “What, do you mind?” Klaus breaks them apart to ask.

Dave shakes his head frantically. _Call me whatever you want. Just don’t stop what you’re doing._

  


_if you dont feel like talking thats ok._

_ben says hi._

 

_if you dont feel like talking thats ok._

_ben says hi._

 

Dave tears through the woods, ignoring the branches and spiderwebs that rip at him while he goes. Cole is dozens of yards behind him, with no hope to catch up. He can feel his heartbeat blaring in his ears, harmonizing with the high pitched ringing that won’t stop.

There had been an explosion. One second, he was squatting in a foxhole, chuckling at Klaus’ impression of Richardson, and the next, he was waking up, covered in ash and mud. He’d looked around to see where Klaus had gone, and found himself in an unfamiliar clearing. Klaus was nowhere to be found. Instead, Dave saw only Cole, the newest addition to their unit. He was squatting nervously next to Dave, and visibly relaxed when he heard him speak.

“Where’s Klaus?”

“Thank god you’re alive. I couldn’t tell if you were breathing or-“

“Where’s Klaus?”

Cole shook his head. “Who?”

“Hargreeves.” His blood was running cold, visions of Klaus’ body in various states of decay flashing across his vision.

“I-I don’t know,” Cole’s voice was hoarse. “I saw you and I knew I could get you out.”

Dave sat straight up, ignoring the protests by all his limbs. “What about him?”

“There was something… lodged in his back, and there was so much blood, and I didn’t think I could save him, so I just grabbed you and dragged you as far away as I could.” Dave was on his feet. “Which way’s camp?” he asked.

“It’s southeast of here. But we should really wait here, we don’t know what else is- hey!” He shouted as Dave turned his back on him and started to run, compass in hand.

He can hear the chatter before he sees the lights. He plows through the trees and runs straight to the medical tent.

Please, please. Please, Klaus.

Klaus never disappoints. Dave’s ten feet from the tent when he hears it.

“You should see what my brother Diego’s got on the side of his head. This shit is nothing." 

Dave whirls around and sees Klaus sitting on a crate, a small crowd gathered around him as per usual. He’s not wearing a shirt, due most likely to the huge white bandage wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. There are barely closed scratches and fresh bruises smattering his face and upper body. And he’s alive.

“It’ll look badass. You guys say “badass”, right?”

Dave’s feet move without him, and take him to the back of the group. When Klaus spots him, his smile drops for such a tiny fraction of a second that Dave knows he’s the only one who sees it. “Hey, Katz,” Klaus says weakly.

“Hey, Hargreeves.”

Klaus excuses himself from the group, citing tiredness. As he and Dave head toward the barracks, they hear a cry:

“Hargreeves! How’d you es-“

“Took a six inch piece of shrapnel to the back- works like a charm. Try it next time!”

Dave feels hollowed out as Klaus leads him by the elbow into the tent. He can’t register what’s happened. There had been an explosion. Klaus was dead, probably. Klaus was alive. Klaus was smiling. Klaus hadn’t looked for him.

As soon as they’re inside, Dave checks to make sure they’re alone and throws his arms around Klaus’ waist. Klaus is whispering something frantically, but Dave can’t make it out.

“What happened to you?” Dave demands. “I’ve spent the afternoon cutting my face to ribbons in the goddamn jungle running to find you. Are you okay?” he trails his fingers along the bandage that encompasses Klaus’ shoulder.

In response, he pulls away and puts his hands on either side of Dave’s face. He nods. “Relax. My shoulder blade is gonna have a bitch of a scar, but who cares, I can pull it off... I was worried about you, though. I woke up, and they were pulling me out, and you were just _gone,_ I thought you’d been taken prisoner or worse.” He actually smirks. “But I thought something.”

“What’s that?”

“If I go home, you go home.”

Dave wraps Klaus up again, even lifts him off the ground. “Watch the shoulder, Brokeback, I’m damaged goods!”

Dave freezes. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I forgot to thank Cole.”

 

_you didnt live to hear abbey road right? thats the biggest loss of all. we could listen to it together anytime you want. i’ll clear my schedule_

 

_you didnt live to hear abbey road right? thats the biggest loss of all. we could listen to it together anytime you want. i’ll clear my schedule_

 

Every time they get a night off, they spend it locked away in a seedy motel room. They spend as much time talking as they spend _not talking._ It’s a space they can have, really have, if just for a few hours.

Dave turns his head on the starchy pillow one night. A record plays quietly; it’s one Klaus bought while they were out shopping earlier. Every time it ends, he gets out of bed to start it over again.

(Klaus loves music more than anyone Dave’s ever met. He could listen forever as he mumbles the words to song after song. He’s never quite on pitch, he never knows all the words, and he never cares.)

 

_“Ramona, come closer, shut softly your watery eyes…”_

 

“Klaus.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re my best friend, you know that?”

A long pause as he passes the cigarette. “I better be.”

Dave doesn’t know what Klaus is looking at on the ceiling, but it’s turning his eyes to glass.

 

_“...There's no use in trying to deal with the dying / Though I cannot explain that in lines...”_

 

He must feel Dave’s heavy gaze, because he turns on his side to face him. Gravity works against him now, and Dave can see a tear streak across the bridge of his nose.

Dave reaches out and wipes it away before it can fall. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just thinking about how far I had to go to find someone who says things like that. Someone who actually wants to be near me. I’m not used to it. That’s all,” he confesses. “No need to make a big deal out of it.” 

 

_“...It's all just a dream, babe, a vacuum, a scheme, babe / that sucks you into feeling like this…”_

 

Dave knows that there’s a lot Klaus doesn’t tell him, and never will. He still doesn’t know the exact circumstances of his upbringing, except that it was lonely and loud. He doesn’t know how he ended up in ‘Nam, or what happened on the night with the blue blast, when he discovered him on the floor. He knows there are reasons that he doesn’t know these things, and more. He knows there are people who would demand those things of Klaus, especially since, by now, Klaus knows all there is to know about Dave. But he doesn’t feel that need.

Not even when he falters, and he falters a lot. Klaus will sometimes see something that Dave can't- he'll focus hard on a spot, shake his head, even mumble, and then deny that anything out of the ordinary happened at all. Every time this happens, he disappears for a while and comes back absolutely wasted.

Even taking that into consideration, the Klaus that’s laying next to him right now is enough. He doesn’t need the past. Maybe that’s strange, but his life has suddenly become a strange one.

 

_“... And someday, maybe / who knows, baby / I'll come and be crying to you…”_

 

He whispers into Klaus’ hair for a long time. All the things he loves about him, what everyone should love about him. But he won’t use the word. Not here.

 

_i know how much you like folk. can you hear me playing it in my room? if its loud enough for five to get mad it should be loud enough for you to hear_

_we should have danced more_

 

_i know how much you like folk. can you hear me playing it in my room? if its loud enough for five to get mad it should be loud enough for you to hear_

_we should have danced more_

 

It’s been almost six months since they met. They’ve collected five scars and four tattoos between them. The biggest scar belongs to Klaus, who loves when Dave runs his fingers over the raw pink line on his shoulder blade.

They get the tattoos together, with the whole unit. They have a few nights leave, and while neither of them really want to waste any precious motel time, they’re convinced to join the group as they cram into a shitty tattoo parlor.

Klaus doesn’t even blink an eye when the tattoo gun touches his skin- in fact, while the skull is being gouged into his arm, he paints them all a picture of his first time under the needle.

“Dear old Dad had us line up one morning, right. He’s acting all mysterious, he won’t tell us what’s going on. Then he gives this big speech about teamwork and unification and all that nonsense; next thing we know we got some giant guy pinning us down and giving us these ugly fuckers. I mean, look at that. It doesn’t go with anything- Christ on a cracker, this is taking forever.”

They ask him questions, like always. The Umbrella Academy turns this group of trained killers into a gaggle of excited toddlers. “Did it give you special powers?” “Wouldn’t Spaceboy’s skin be impenetrable? That’s what I’ve been picturing.” “Did you get that fucking umbrella tattoo just so you could tell this dumbass story?”

Dave’s quiet. He stands near the back as they talk over each other, and Klaus catches his eye through the crowd. He shoots him a wink. “You’re next,” he mouths.

 

_have you happened to meet anyone lately named patch? if you know her send her my way. i wont be upset if you decide to hang back_

 

_have you happened to meet anyone lately named patch? if you know her send her my way. i wont be upset if you decide to hang back_

 

Someone knows about them. Dave doesn’t have proof, but he’s got a gut feeling. He trusts those.

 He’ll be eating with Klaus and feel eyes on him. They’ll be on patrol when Klaus laughs at something he says; he swears he catches heads turning away when he looks over his shoulder. Someone knows and they’ve told everyone.

Dave’s waiting for the hammer to fall. Best case scenario, they’re dishonorably discharged. Crippling shame aside, they’d get to go back to the States, and maybe even start to consider a future. Worst case scenario, they’re dragged out of their beds in the dead of night and shot in the head. They’d be reported AWOL and that would be that.

Dave considers his options a lot in life- it’s part of being careful and staying hidden. He makes lists of pros and cons, he has since elementary school. He doesn’t have the means here, but he does have someone who’ll listen to his concerns.

“No way,” Klaus scoffs. They’re in their clearing by the treeline, Dave sitting against a rock with his legs splayed out, Klaus’ head resting on his lap. They’ve given up any semblance of caring about dirt or bugs- they’re creatures of the jungle now.

“If someone knew and cared enough to talk shit about it, we’d know by now,” he says.

Dave frowns. “‘Talk shit?’”

“You know, spread the rumor. I really don’t think you need to worry. You were right when you said we’d be in deep shit if someone knew. But hey- we’re not! There’s no reason for anyone to learn about us, then _wait_ before knocking our little gay teeth out. Relax.” He sounds so sure of himself when he says it.

“You really believe that?”

Klaus weaves their fingers together. “I really do.”

Dave sighs. Since he was a kid, he’s been neurotic, overthinking everything. When he realized he was queer, it only got worse. But a few words from Klaus and he actually feels better.

He tries to tell him this in so many words. “Thanks. Thank you. You… you calm me down. That’s a big deal. You calm me down.”

Klaus laughs. “I swear to god, man, everything you say is just.... If you knew how people usually see me. I’m not known for being a calming presence.”

“Ah, I’m sick of hearing what other people say about you. They’re all wrong. You’re not what people say, trust me. Fuck ‘em in the eye.”

Klaus shuts his eyes and smiles a blissful smile. “Fuck ‘em in the eye.”

 

_i shouldve known we jinxed it. what kind of idiots are we huh??_

 

_i shouldve known we jinxed it. what kind of idiots are we huh??_

 

The paranoia dies down after a while. It must have been in his head after all, because they fall into a sort of pattern that almost works.

They get shot at, they recover, they get blown up, they recover, they go to a motel, they recover. Eat, sleep, fuck, stay alive, repeat.

The closer they get to the end of their tour- when Dave had asked when Klaus would be through, he’d simply answered, “Whenever you’re through.” -the more real it seems. It’s been ten months since Dave’s been in the Valley, and eight since he met Klaus.

Every day that they fall into their cots in one piece, Dave lets himself picture a little bit more of what it’ll be like to leave. Clean clothes, dry skin, soda pop, and a real bathtub. The things he’d never thought about till they were gone.

When he thinks about his life when he gets home, he imagines there’s someone there with him. He’s not sure how it would work- two men sharing a house is always going to make people talk. But he doesn’t even know what Klaus wants, or if, unlike Dave, he has somewhere to go back to.

He broaches the subject while they’re out on patrol, quiet enough so no one else will hear. This way, if Klaus says no, Dave can just keep walking with his head down and no one will pay attention to whatever pathetic look is on his face. (But he doesn’t think he’ll say no.)

He and Klaus are walking on opposite sides of a dirt path, guns drawn. The nearest people are twenty feet away, both in front of and behind them. “Hey,” Dave hisses. “You busy?”

Klaus smirks. “No, not at all. Bored, actually. Wanna hang out?”

After a deep breath, Dave mutters: “I was thinking about how there’s two more months before we leave.”

No response. Dave goes on.

“What’re you going to do when you get back?" 

Klaus seems rattled by the question, his green eyes darting back and forth, like he’s reading something. It’s the face he makes whenever he’s deep in thought. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t know, either.”

“Oh. Interesting coincidence. Guess we’ll have to make an arrangement. No one wants two homeless veterans wandering the streets, do they? That’s downright un-American.”

“Sure is. No one wants that.”

They’re grinning like assholes.

  


_you fell in love with someone impossible to love in the place least capable of love. sorry if that doesnt make sense,  im really sober. but seriously. howd you manage that?_

 

_you fell in love with someone impossible to love in the place least capable of love. sorry if that doesnt make sense,  im really sober. but seriously. howd you manage that?_

 

Their plan takes shape, little by little. They want as few neighbors as possible, so as not to draw too much attention. A farm, maybe. Klaus has always been a city slicker, but he says he’s ready for a change. “What has the city ever done for me,” he sneers.

A farm, then. Out west, but not so far west that there’s nothing to do. Klaus suggests Vegas, rubbing his hands together. That idea gets shot down.

It’s what they talk about now, nine and a half months since they met. They talk about the future.

They’ll have animals. Lots of them, and they’ll have plenty of space to roam around. They’ll have a huge bed to spread out in and a record player in every room. A whole room for vinyls, where they’ll line the walls like a fine library.

Their house will have doors. They both miss doors.

It’s during one of these planning/daydreaming sessions that it finally gets said.

Dave’s the one who does it. Klaus is counting off his favorite names for cats on his fingers. “Louis the Fourteenth, Countess Francesca, Duchess Anastasia, Lord and Lady Hamburglar, but that’s just one cat, President Van Winkle, do you understand the theme, Queen Victorioso-“

 “Hey, I love you.”

 Klaus’ head snaps backwards like he smells something bad. “I love you, too.” He winds his arms around Dave’s neck and leans in. Right before their lips meet, he whispers: “We’re gonna have so many fucking cats.”

 

_next week makes 50 years since the last time i saw you. that doesnt feel right._

_it feels like so much longer._

 

_next week makes 50 years since the last time i saw you. that doesnt feel right._

_it feels like so much longer._

 

They wake up back to back, like they so often do. They pack up the tents and all their gear. They head off. It’s ordinary.

The day goes smoothly, too. They avoid a spike trap by inches, and they breathe a sigh of relief. They plant mines every few hundred yards without any issues. More than ordinary- a lucky day, even.

Dusk brings gunfire.

They’re behind the piles of sandbags, waiting for lulls in the shit so they can get behind their sights again and shoot. This is the front lines, baby, he can almost hear Klaus say.

He checks in on Klaus whenever he can. He’s a few feet to his right, and he’d never admit it, but Dave thinks he kind of likes when they’re taking heavy fire like this. Klaus loves thrills, and he loves a rush, no matter if it comes from a bottle, a needle, or a bullet whizzing past his ear. Dave definitely catches him smiling.

Time’s lost all meaning. The light hasn’t changed, but it feels like hours since sunset. Since when does dusk last for hours?

Dave’s trying to stay focused. And something bad happens.

One lesson Dave has learned almost every day since he landed at base: helicopters drown out noise. They drown out voices, and then you miss important orders. They drown out shouts of pain, and you leave a man behind. They drown out trucks, and the help you need drives right past you. And they absolutely, constantly, mercilessly drown out bullets.

That’s why Dave doesn’t hear the one that rips through his chest. But he can fucking feel it.

He tries to haul himself up, to turn himself over, even to wave his arm and get Klaus’ attention. But he’s deep in shock, and nothing that he wants his limbs to do is happening. So what now? He dies facedown in the mud, he assumes.

Klaus’ voice. “Christ on a cracker! That was a close one, huh, Dave?” At least he can be the last thing Dave hears, if all his eyes can see is filth.

But no, Klaus is there. In an instant, Dave feels himself being turned over and hauled up and- oh, there’s Klaus. He’s really there. This is what he looks like, this is what he smells like, his fingers feel calloused and his tears are hot.

He’s screaming and shaking and begging and weeping, and Dave vaguely hears his own name a few times. He loves when Klaus says his name- is that feeling mutual? He’s trying to return the favor, but the word won’t come to his lips.

Dave really doesn’t want to die. He wants cats.

He wants to stop himself from hurting Klaus anymore, because the look on his face is enough to tear another hole through Dave’s body.

He wants to talk. He has more to say.

Klaus is blurry, and then out of sight. He’s pressing his face to Dave’s forehead now. Dave thinks maybe he sees something else, up in a tree. Steady movement, and a flash of something bright. He must be imagining things.

Klaus is rocking him. He really, really loves Klaus.

 

_i should stop sending these texts. but it feels more real than trying to conjure you. we both know that shits not working._

 

_i should stop sending these texts. but it feels more real than trying to conjure you. we both know that shits not working._

 

Dave wakes up. Dave wakes up?

That doesn’t make any sense. He sees no pearly gates, no hellfire. No blank white purgatory.

He’s right back where they started. He’s outside the barracks, and it’s pitch black. There’s chatter and warm light coming from inside the tent.

Dave wanders in. It’s late; he sees sleeping bodies, save for a few men lingering by the entrance. His friends. He hears his own name immediately. “Katz? No, it can’t be him. Please, no,” it’s Chaz. “I thought that, outta all of us-“

“I know. We all did, man,” Levi says back.

“Jesus. Where’s Hargreeves?”

Levi’s face darkens. “Last I saw him, he was in a truck on his way back here. Damn near catatonic. He was with him when it happened.”

“Yeah, no shit. I won’t know what to say to him,” Chaz shakes his head. “He ain’t never been cut out for this. Poor asshole.”

Dave knows he’s dead. It’s not something to _know-_ he can feel it. But he never thought he’d have to listen to this. 

Hopefully he’ll be here when-

Suddenly, he feels tightness in his chest, and hot air whooshing throughout his whole body. Dave jumps. Someone just walked through him, like he’s a column of smoke.

He whirls around to see who it was, and honestly, he should have guessed.

Klaus’s body is stiff as he makes his way towards his cot. The tent is all but silent; as far as they know, Klaus has just lost his closest brother-in-arms. That’s sacred around here.

He reaches the space in between his cot and Dave’s. He seems to think for a moment, then sits unceremoniously on the ground, leaning up against Dave’s bed frame. He’s glaring at his hands. The tattoos on his palms are almost invisible under what must be a cup of Dave’s blood.

If his ghost could vomit, he would.

He sees Chaz and Levi consider approaching him, and he sees them decide against it. Klaus sits in silence, more still than Dave’s ever seen him.

“That really shut him up,” remarks someone at Dave’s shoulder.

It’s Artie. It’s _Artie_.

He looks the same as he did, aside from the haphazardly bandaged wound on his thigh. His pants have been slashed so they only have one leg- it’s a hell of a way to look for all eternity.

“It’s not polite to stare, Davey. You don’t look much better yourself,” Artie says. For the first time, Dave notices the gaping hole in his chest. It’s still dripping blood, but no stains appear on the ground when the droplets fall.

“Hey, Art,” he chokes out. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Ain’t nothing to do but watch.”

They watch Klaus together for a few more minutes. Dave doesn’t even think he’s blinking.

“I’m sorry you had to go, Katz,” Artie says, “You really were one swell sonofabitch. I hated to see it happen.”

“You saw?” At Artie’s solemn nod, Dave adds, “So you know. Me and Hargreeves.”

Artie actually laughs. “You and Hargreeves? I’ve known since you two started. Being a ghost is boring, man. I was wandering around camp, looking for something to do, saw you two necking in the woods five minutes later. It’s a miracle no one caught you. Ah, what do I care? I wish I’d had something like that to get me through.” He looks thoughtfully at Klaus. “But... I wouldn’t risk it. Because no matter how much we mope, that cat there’s got it worse.”

Dave can’t talk about this anymore or he’ll burst. He walks over, his steps both heavy and light as air, and sits on Klaus’ bed. He’s facing him now, looking down at him.

“Klaus. Klaus,” he tries. “Please, Klaus.”

Artie followed him, and he’s standing at the foot of Klaus’ cot. “Makes you wish that whole Umbrella thing was real.”

“What?"

“You know, the Séance thing. When I first died, I actually tried it. Stupid, I know. I went right up to him and started talking as if he’d be able to hear me. I thought I might’ve saw him perk up for a second, but I got one hell of an imagination, seeing as I’m nineteen forever.”

Artie stops talking when a huge figure passes through him. It’s Richardson- the beast of the 173rd. He stands right in front of Dave, looking down at Klaus on the floor.

Dave hears a soft _clink_ as Richardson drops something into Klaus’ lap. Dave can’t see what it is, but it seems to wake him from his stupor.

“What- how did you…?,” he croaks.

Richardson shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Klaus sniffs and shuffles the object around in his hand. “Did… did everyone know?”

“No,” Richardson shakes his head again. “Not everyone. Sorry, Hargreeves.”

“Thank you,” Klaus says thickly. With that, Richardson nods and walks away.

With him out of the way, Dave can see the gift clearly. Dog tags. He doesn’t have to look closer, but he does. They’re his, and they’re covered in as much gore as the man holding them.

He puts them around his neck with shaky, scarlet fingers, and returns to his silent vigil. What he’s waiting for, Dave doesn’t know.

Before long, all the lights in the tents have gone out. No one is awake except for Klaus and Dave, who both haven’t moved a muscle.

Without warning, Klaus darts his head up and around. Dave recognizes the movement; he did it every time they’d meet up in a risky spot. To check if the coast is clear before dropping to his knees.

It is- even Artie has wandered off- and Klaus dives under his own cot. He pulls out a square parcel, wrapped in an oversized army jacket. Klaus pulls away the jacket and reveals:

A briefcase.

Dave recognizes it- it’s the one Klaus clutched for dear life on the night they met, and refused to talk about for all the months after. 

He’s clutching it again now. “Please,” he mutters. “Please.” He undoes the clasps, and stops. Biting his lip, he looks back at Dave’s cot. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He opens the briefcase. Dave starts to reply.

_Zap!_

In a flash of blue, Klaus is gone.

Dave stands up and spins around, baffled. “Klaus?” he calls.

He heads outside. “Artie? You still here?”

Artie’s milling about with a few other ghosts that Dave doesn’t know. They must be from before his time. “Have you seen Klaus?” he asks without bothering to introduce himself.

“No… I thought he was dead to the world. No offense.”

“He just… he vanished. There was this… _light…_ ” Dave trails off. The blue light. The blue light.

“Katz, you okay there?” Artie asks.

“Fine, fine. I’ll talk to you later,” Dave mutters and walks right past Artie and into the trees. His feet carry him to the clearing where he and Klaus would sit, night after night. He thinks better here than anywhere else.

He’d recognized the blue light that whisked Klaus away. From the first night, obviously. He thinks about that night a lot. But he knows it from somewhere else.

Blue light. _Zap!_

Dave racks his brain. It was up high. It was blurry.

He remembers how he died, just a few hours ago. Klaus’ anguished cries filled his ears, tears mingling with blood and- a light.

Thinking back post-mortem, without the pain of his body shutting down all at once, the whole memory seems less blurry.

Dave remembers a blue light, up in a tree. And a gun.

Like a scene in a film, Dave sees his own death: he was shot in the back- but the V.C. had been mostly ahead of them.

Beyond Klaus’ shoulder: a man in a tree. He lowers his rifle. He’s looking at Dave with lifeless eyes. He fiddles with something. Blue light. _Zap!_

And his murderer, the man with the briefcase and the white mustache, is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- is that what the kids call a cliffhanger? did i do it?  
> \- i wanted to address klaus' big ass scar!  
> \- also. i am sure that a lot of what i wrote about vietnam is incorrect, but consider this- i dont care  
> \- klaus is a cuddle fiend and if you wanna fight me, then fight me  
> \- part two coming (hopefully very) soon!!
> 
> talk to me on tumblr!
> 
> shameful-shameless.tumblr.com


	2. golden slumbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i know i said two chapters but.........yeah  
> \- im not bothering myself too much with the whole 'stopping the apocalypse' business. im all about the romance  
> \- i hope its ok with you guys that im allergic to, like, real paragraphs
> 
>  

1997

Rain pelts the roof, like it has for the last six nights. Normally, Number Four would sit up in bed and face out the window, watching the droplets join and come apart over and over again on the glass. He doesn’t like the loud thunderclaps that make him jump out of his skin. But he likes lightning. They’re a flash of sunshine; a gift being brought to him from the much preferred daytime.

Tonight, though, he’s not pressing his fingers to the cool glass, or hoping for the tiny little days among the night. Instead, he’s at the opposite corner of his room, clutching his knees to his chest.

There are people here. His eyes are screwed shut, but he can hear them. He doesn’t know, he never knows what it is he’s done to the people who visit him, but they’re always so _angry._

He feels his fingernails digging still more deeply into his shins.

_Four._

_I know you can hear me._

_Number Four, why didn’t you find my daughter? You promised._

_I want you to see what they did to me!_

Four’s waiting for the door to swing open. Any second now. Any second now. Please. 

Sure enough, Grace announces herself with a loud creak and a light laugh. “Now, now, Number Four. What have we said about taking off your monitor?”

She tuts disapprovingly and reaches for the discarded electrode pad laying on the floor.

Four doesn’t lift his head. He can feel blood underneath his fingernails. “It was the only way to make him send you in,” he admits to his feet.

Grace hums sympathetically. After hearing her heels click a few times, Four feels a cool hand carding through his sweaty hair. He doesn’t want to stick the pad back onto his forehead and lay in bed with his limbs out, vulnerable to whatever spirits feel they have a grudge against him.

He tilts his head up so he can wipe his nose with his pajama sleeve. Grace is kneeling down in front of him, brandishing her best listening face. There’s movement over her shoulder- an older man with pale, gray skin is staring at Number Four viciously. There’s a two-foot length of rebar jutting crookedly through his gut. When he moves toward Four, the edges of his mangled organs are forced into the light.

Four buries his head in Grace’s neck. They sit like that for a while, Four trying to focus the old fashioned tune she’s humming, instead of the echos and anguish everywhere else in this room.

They’re cut off by a new presence in the doorway. “Grace!” Reginald barks, “Why has Number Four still not been reattached to the EEG?” he points at the long, thin cord leading from the abandoned sensor on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Grace says softly. “That brain activity will be of little use to you if Number Four can’t fall asleep to begin with. You understand.”

Four hears his father huff and remind her that it’s almost sunrise before stalking off back to his office.

“I meant to ask him,” Four whispers, so maybe, just maybe, no one will hear but her, “If next time, I didn’t have to go. To the crypt.”

He bites his lip. “They follow me out, Mom. They won’t let me sleep. Please, can you ask him for me? I can train with Number Two. Or practice some other way.”

Grace tilts her head back to look at him, frowning. “I’m sorry, darling. But it’s what your father wants for you. I promise- a few more nights in there, and it won’t be scary anymore. You’ll make good friends with all the lovely people who live there, and you’ll be able to talk and play all day long. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Four shakes his head. “They don’t want to be my friend." 

“They will- who wouldn’t want to be your friend?” She waits for him to smile, albeit weakly.

“Now, you have to be down for breakfast in three hours and twenty one minutes. So get as much rest as you can.” She’s pulling him off the ground as gently as possible and leading him back to the bed. He brushes shoulders with the bloody man, who doesn’t seem pleased to be ignored.

“Don’t think I’m going nowhere just ‘cause you’re little. You got shit to do for me,” he’s hissing.

Number Four recoils, but either Grace doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. She holds back the blankets and sheets, inviting Four back into bed. Reluctantly, he climbs back in, knitting his fists in the fabric and wondering if the crescent moon cuts he’d bored into his shins would stain them.

Mom presses the electrode pad back onto his temple. She carefully straightens out its cord all the way to where it disappears under the door, and moves to walk out. “Please stay,” Four blurts, side eyeing the man with the rebar. “Please, Mom.”

Her perfect mouth makes a line, then a warm smile as she walks through the ghost and perches herself on the edge of the bed. Four scoots over, closer to the wall.

For the rest of the night, Four pretends to sleep while clutching his arms around Mom’s middle as tightly as he can. He ignores the ghost until he leaves, only for another one to show up not five minutes later.

Number Four focuses as hard as possible on the hand rubbing small circles in his back. And he makes a plan.

  
  


**TERMINATE JOHAN KÜREN.**

**BERNE, SWITZERLAND.**

**1904.**

  
  


The next morning, Number Four is the first down to breakfast. He stares at Mom’s back as she cooks. It’s a physical training day, and that means oatmeal and horrible green tracksuits for everyone but Seven. 

He sits straight up in his chair and tries not to fidget, both things he never does.

 _“_ What’re _you_ doing in here?”

Four almost falls out of his chair as Number Five appears in the seat across from him.

“Waiting for breakfast.”

“Obviously. But since when are you the first one dressed?”

Four shrugs. “Maybe I’m hungry.”

Five rolls his eyes and buries his nose in some book about math or something else boring that Four would never dare touch.

Six and Seven come in together, followed by Two, who’s flipping a knife through his fingers. Six walks to sit in the spot next to Four, and stops. “What’s this?” He holds up the object sitting on his usual chair- a necklace with a silver chain and flower pendant.

“You can’t sit there,” Four says. “I’m saving it.”

Six looks hurt and takes another seat quietly. They always sit together.

Four takes a mental note to apologize later, but right now, he has more important things to worry about.

Every time someone turns the corner, Four’s head perks up. He’s waiting for someone, which of course means she’s going to come in last.

Then- Numbers One and Three bounce in, laughing up a storm.

“Three!” Klaus calls. “Hey, I saved you a spot!” He enthusiastically pats the chair next to his. 

Number Three smiles a smile of confusion, not of kindness. She looks at One, then back to Four.

“Okay...?” she says, and slowly walks to the seat next to him, giving a shrug to One, who she usually sits with.

“Here,” Four holds out the necklace as soon as she’s sitting. “I lied the other day. I did take this from your room,” he confesses. “I’m really sorry, Three. It’s just so pretty.”

Three takes the necklace and puts it in the pocket of her tracksuit. “Oh. Thanks.” Her lips are tight as she turns away from him. 

They’ve never been all that close; their powers are too different for them to train together like One and Two, and whenever they’re not training, she’s either in her room or off playing with One.

Four bites his lip. He’s determined that today is the day that all changes. It has to.

“Hey, Three,” he tries again. “Can I tell you a secret?” He lowers his voice; he knows how much Three loves gossip and, well, rumors.

This piques her interest. She leans in. “Of course.”

He starts with a compliment- “It’s just- you always look so pretty-“ and whispers about how he’s jealous of how she dresses on their off days, and asks her if maybe she’d paint his nails as soon as they have free time. As he goes on, her eyes light up.

She squeezes his hand (have they ever even touched before now?) and nods excitedly. “Of course. Oh, this is going to be so much fun- Seven never wants to dress up with me!”

Four and Three chat until Reginald joins them at the table and the “quiet rule” takes effect. Training, which this morning consists of taking turns blocking each other’s blows, seems to take forever. By two o’clock, Four has a bruise on his chin from Two’s elbow and a pit of anxiety still brewing in his gut. Whenever they’re resting or it’s not their turn, Four bounces over to Three and starts a new conversation; he always showers her with praise, and as the day goes on, she’s returning the favor.

It’s the closest Four’s ever felt to any of his siblings other than Six. (He almost feels guilty about his plan, but figures that there’s no harm done. They’re forging a real connection, and if he happens to get something more out of it, that’s just fine.)

Finally, after dinner, they’re released from their responsibilities for the night. This is normally when they’d go their separate ways, but instead, Three seizes his hand and drags him into her room. They’re not in there thirty seconds when a timid knock rings out. 

“Three?”

“Go away!” she yells. “We’re busy!”

“Oh, um. Okay,” One doesn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. Three waits for the sound of his bedroom door closing before turning back to Four.

“What color?” she beams.

That’s how they spend the next hour- Three painting each of Four’s nails a different color, then wiping it off and letting him try himself. He’s a natural, and before long she’s even entrusting him with her precious hands.

“Why haven’t we done this before?” Three asks earnestly as she drapes her pink boa around Four’s shoulders.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s do it all the time.” He means it- he’s been examining his hands in different positions for twenty minutes. It feels right- he feels kind of _pretty_.

Four looks up at her face, the real, genuine smile plastered across it. He inhales. This is his chance.

“Hey, Three,” he starts. “I was wondering if maybe you would do something for me. A favor, nothing big.”

“Sure, anything,” Three nods her head so her curls bounce.

Four stares down at his hands, which are curling around the edges of the boa nervously. “I was wondering if…”

Another deep breath.

“If you would rumor my powers away.”

She blinks, once, twice. “If- what? Why would you want that?”

Four isn’t sure how much she knows, or any of them know, about his power- about what it really means, and the effect it has on him. He certainly hasn’t told anyone, except for a few details shared with Six. But even he doesn’t understand. 

“It’s hard to explain,” he already feels tears pricking up in his eyes, oh no, “But I can’t control it. I don’t care what Dad says, he’s wrong. I’m never going to be able to control it. They won’t leave me alone, Three, I just want it to be over.”

“You wouldn’t be allowed on missions anymore.”

Four laughs. “Good! I never do anything anyway, except get followed home by ghosts with Two’s knives sticking out of their necks.”

The tears are threatening to fall now, but he refuses to blink. He can’t see Three anymore, just a blurry outline. Probably for the best, since he wouldn’t be able to admit all of this if he had to look someone in the eye.

“Do you know what my training _is_?” he says, because there’s no point stopping now.

He can make out the big dark blob of Three’s hair shake back and forth. “He takes me to the graveyard. That big stone mausoleum- he locks me inside. It’s supposed to be so that I get over my fear of ghosts. He says he’ll let me out when I’m not afraid anymore. But I’m never not afraid. So he never lets me out. Not till he has to.” 

Four blinks against his own will, and hot tears stream down his cheeks. He wipes them away quickly, and looks back up at Three. She’s looking at him like he’s an alien. “What?” he asks, and it comes out like a sob.

“I didn’t know that. I know that you get trained off-site, but I never thought to ask where. Is it bad? Are there- are there people here right now?”

He glances around the room. “Not right now. But the more time I spend in there, the more I see, and it never gets any better. Never. They leave with me, and they watch me, and I can’t sleep. I can’t ever sleep. Please.” He knows he sounds and looks pathetic, weeping on his sister’s bed with a boa around his neck. Probably because he _is_ pathetic.

Three’s biting her lip now. She takes Four’s hand. “If it works, we’re going to be in so much trouble.” She gives it a squeeze. “But I can try.”

A smile breaks out across Four’s tear-streaked face.

“I heard a rumor that you don’t have any powers at all."  
  


It doesn’t work. According to Three, it’s the only time one of her rumors didn’t come true. Of course.

“Maybe it’s because it wasn’t a command,” she suggests a few days later. “I heard a rumor that you… couldn’t see ghosts anymore,” she tries. That doesn’t work either.

They try variation after variation of the same rumor, and it never takes. They give up after two weeks of trying.

Four tells her it’s okay; he refuses to let her see how crushed he is. But he’s trapped now, more than he’s ever been.

Every time he’s in the mausoleum he feels even worse. Because not only is he here: he’s never getting out.

At least Three lets him borrow her clothes now.

  
  


**TERMINATE MARIA PURRECA.**

**COLONIA DEL SACRAMENTO, URUGUAY.**

**1647.**

  
  


It’s been at least four hours since the door was last opened, and at least six since Reginald tossed him inside. Today, it’s a punishment: he’d started a bit of a scene after breakfast by hiding Two’s favorite knife belt.

It had been in good fun, or so he’d thought- he’d made the mistake of telling Five where he’d hidden it, which meant it ended up hanging from the chandelier.

Five had watched smugly as Two and Four struggled to get it down, knowing that he was the only one who could ever come close. “Dad’ll kill us if he s-s-sees it up there. You know I can’t have my b-belt out except to train,” Two had insisted to Five, panicked. “Y-y-y-you have to get it.”

Shrugging, Five simply said, “Fix it yourself. And think next time before you lodge any more knives in my door.” With a flash, he was gone.

“That happened ages ago!”, Two whined. “He’s been w-waiting to get back at me for that.”

Reginald walked into the foyer ten minutes later and found Four standing precariously on Two’s shoulders, holding out a broom to try to reach the belt.

Four got the blame. He always did.

And all roads lead to this dusty building.

He’s not in the corner of the mausoleum like he usually is- he’s pacing back and forth, hoping that if he keeps moving, enough of them will get tired of trying to get his attention and leave. He’s hoping.

So far, no such luck. There’s a mother and daughter holding hands to his left- he can’t tell how they died from looking at them, but they’re silent while they glare.

There’s an old man, and a soldier, and a woman in a wheelchair. They hadn’t been here twenty minutes ago- he must have summoned them by mistake. Based on the bewildered looks on their faces, they don’t know how they ended up here. Number Four doesn’t feel like explaining that he’s a magnet for spirits like them.

Because then they’d just start yelling, too.

Following him as he paces is a young man, soaking wet and dragging a huge rock across the floor by his ankle. He’s been silent, glowering. All of the sudden, he begins to scream. He’s screaming so loud that if he had a throat, he’d surely be tearing it to bits. He’s speaking a language that Four is grateful Reginald never made him learn, but the venom in his voice is bad enough.

Number Four has his fingers in his ears, and he mumbles a song to himself as he paces.

 

“ _Golden slumbers fill your eyes / Smiles await you when you rise / Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry…”_

 

He’s halfway through the only verse he knows (for the second time) when the yelling stops. 

Four stops, too. Tentatively, he takes his fingers out of his ears. There’s a hushed voice. 

“-and he obviously isn’t going to help you, man. Can’t say I blame him. So just do us all a favor and fuck off, sound good?”

Number Four turns around and sees the drowned man being admonished by the soldier who had been lingering by the wall. “You think I’m kidding?” he’s saying, and he takes a threatening step towards his adversary.

Without a word, the drowned man vanishes. The soldier turns to Four. “You alright?”

Four nods, dumbstruck.

He’s ten feet away and the light is dim, but Four can see the kind expression on the man’s face- it reminds him of how Mom looked down at him the other night. Concern.

The soldier is tall, with a shock of curly hair that’s probably fair, but is so caked with mud that it’s impossible to tell. He’s dirty, head to toe, and there’s an angry red crater in the center of his chest where he’s obviously been shot.

“Sorry about that,” the soldier says. “Us spirits can get a bit frustrated.”

“Not you, though.”

The soldier shrugs. “I’m not gonna start yelling at a little kid, if that’s what you mean. But it’s not easy.”

He takes a step back and cranes his neck to get a better look at his surroundings. “Say,” he looks back to Four, “Where are we?”

“A mausoleum near my house.”

“A mausoleum?” the soldier rubs the back of his neck. “What’re you doing in a mausoleum? How old are you?”

“Eight,” Four says defensively. He doesn’t want to answer the first question. It’s not this guy’s business why he’s here- even if he’s concerned about his well-being, or whatever. 

The soldier squints his eyes. “And… well, how come you can see us?” It’s clear this is the question he’s been waiting to ask.

Another question Four doesn’t want to answer, but one that’s harder to avoid. “I just can,” he says. “I don’t know why.”

Shaking his head, the soldier mutters, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Four steps forward.

“Nothin’. I had a friend… he would tell these stories. He used to say he could talk to ghosts. We all thought it was such a trip. But here you are.”

Number Four shifts his weight uncomfortably- he hates when people act like his power is a gift, or something that he should be proud of. He wants nothing more than to tear it out of his skin like an infection.

The soldier must pick up on his discomfort, because he changes the subject. “We’re not always like that, are we?” the soldier gestures to where the drowned man stood.

Number Four looks at his shoes, scuffed from all the dust. “Most of the time.”

“Christ. What’s your name, kid…?”

_I don’t have one. I was bought like a bottle of nail polish._

Number Four shrugs. 

“...I’m guessing you don’t like talking to us much, huh? Well, I won’t keep you.” The soldier steps closer, and kneels so Four is looking down at him.

In the light, Four sees something else. Snaking up the soldier’s shirt, onto his face and neck, are thin stripes of smeared blood. An average eight year old wouldn’t be able to recognize the pattern, but Four knows what it looks like when a hand drags blood around. These are fingerprints, and they’re not the soldier’s. He’s seen it before- this is what it looks like when someone tries to save you.

The soldier smiles. “But if you ever need help again, you know where to find me. The dead can be sorry sons of bitches.”

Four feels a smile creep across his own face. He looks back at his new friend, who gives him a lighthearted wink.

“And don’t tell your Ma that I cursed.”

He’s gone.

  
  
  


**TERMINATE GEORGE CUSTER.**

**BIG HORN COUNTY, MONTANA, U.S.A.**

**1876.**

  
  
  


Klaus’ thumb pauses, hovering over the ‘o’ on his screen. This is pointless, he thinks. All it’s doing is making him reminisce about Dave in all the wrong ways, and worse, give him some kind of demented hope that somehow these texts will be seen.

As if some monitor reading his texts in the afterlife could send a beeper message to Dave. ‘Klaus wants to see you. Report to the realm of the living, stat.’

Not going to happen.

He shuts his eyes and drops his phone onto the vanity. He really should stop. But that would feel like a death in its own way, wouldn't it, whispers a voice in the back of his head. Because then you’re giving up.

His unfinished text glares up at him: “ _i cry a lot now. i cried all the time as a kid and at some point i just stopped doing it. but n”_

Klaus is used to giving up. He’s done it so many times. But he’s not used to giving up on _other_ people.

“That’s not fair,” Dave says from over his shoulder. “No point in getting yourself down like that.”

Klaus doesn’t bother to turn. Burying his head in his hands, he mumbles, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it.”

He raises his head to see Dave laughing at him. He blinks, and there’s no one there.

It’s not new: he keeps seeing him. The first few times it happened, he’d thought he’d conjured him, and talked to the vision like it was Dave.

But it’s not a conjuring, or anything even close. Klaus just… sees him, or hears him, or feels the remnants of his touch. And every time he turns to look, he’s gone. He sees him in flashes; not a spirit but a whisper.

It takes him a while to realize that this is how normal people see ghosts.

He hates it. He hates living in memories. Klaus has never been one to dwell on the past any more than absolutely necessary, for his own sanity’s sake. But now, he can’t help it. The not-ghost of Not-Dave is haunting him more than any blood soaked phantom ever could.

What’s worse is that even those memories keep getting thinner. Every time he sees him, his eyes are a little grayer, his voice a little quieter. He’s slipping away. If Klaus ever forgets the big things, Dave’s laugh, or his blush that spread to his ears, or the feeling of his arms, he thinks he might just fade into dust.

It’s been a month since Klaus returned from the past, a month since he and his siblings stopped the apocalypse (embarrassingly easily). Since then, they’ve been living in the Academy, awkwardly trying to maneuver a kind of family dynamic.

Klaus, for all he’d missed doors in Vietnam, keeps his wide open now that he’s home. The window, too. He’s claustrophobic enough as it is. This is what he can hear:

He can hear soft rumbling from the courtyard where Five and Vanya are training, working on controlling her powers. Five’s trying, and failing, to keep his frustrated cursing to a minimum.

Every few minutes, he hears Diego grumbling as he wheels out the rubble from the demolished bunker. They had elected unanimously to destroy it, since it was almost the catalyst to the end of the world, and- according to Ben- represented a new start, or something.

Diego and Luther had been put on cleanup duty, meaning Luther picked up the large hunks of cement and steel and crushed them into small enough pieces for Diego to wheel outside. Diego was none too happy about being errand boy, and let the whole house know. Klaus had found some entertainment that morning by watching from the top of the staircase as Diego muttered about his usefulness and then ran over his own toe.

Klaus’ loud cackle resulted in a knife sticking out of the wall inches from his head. 

Allison had written Patrick a letter, packed with more truths than she’d ever told him, and earned herself a weekend with Claire. Granted, the court didn’t know Claire would be leaving the state, and that gave Patrick even more leverage over Allison, but she didn’t seem to care. They had 48 more hours with Claire running around the Academy, and they were trying to make the most of it. They’re not in right now; Allison had taken her out for ice cream.

And everywhere, there are ghosts. Now that Klaus is sober, he finds himself tailed by two or three, on a slow day. They’re just as bitter and loud as he remembers, and twice as demanding.

A big part of his training is learning to tune them out.

Right now, there’s an old woman with sallow, sunken features who keeps pacing up and down the hallway. She pokes her head into Klaus’ room every so often to remind him she has two great-nephews who need visiting.

So at the moment, the living occupants of the house are busy while Klaus throws himself a pity party.

And no one knows about Dave.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It’s an actual voice now. Almost.

Klaus lifts up his head and grins. “What’s there to talk about? I’m great.”

“Wipe that stupid smile off your face,” Ben scolds, “There’s no point lying to me.”

“Don’t try and tell me that you can read my mind. I’m not falling for that again.”

Ben smirks and sits on Klaus’ bed, facing him. He sighs. “Seriously. Knock it off with the texts and talk to someone about this.”

All Diego knows is that Klaus lost someone he loves. Five knows that he time traveled somewhere, and knows that he got a tattoo. And Ben knows everything, but Ben doesn’t even have a body, so.

“Why would I tell anyone?” Klaus leans back in his chair and throws his feet up onto the vanity. “I have you. It’s not like you can tell anyone my secrets. Plus you can read my mind, right?”

“Klaus,” Ben says, “I’m serious. You’d want to know if it were any of them.”

“But it’s not any of them, is it? It’s me.”

It takes Ben a moment to understand. “You think they won’t believe you.”

Klaus throws his arms up in an over exaggerated shrug. “Wouldn’t shock me.”

He tries to ignore Ben staring pointedly at the dog tags hanging around his neck. His eyes say _You have proof, idiot._

Maybe he _can_ read his mind.

“Alright, fine! God, you’re pushy,” Klaus groans and hauls himself off his chair. He sighs. “This…” he says to no one in particular, “...is going to suck a dick.”

He wanders out of his bedroom and down the hall into the foyer.

He passes the old woman, who opens her mouth to gripe more at him.

“Not gonna happen, Gladys,” he tosses over his shoulder as he goes.

Sticking out of the wall, he sees the knife Diego had thrown at him earlier. He turns to Ben and points at it. “Him? Would that satisfy you?”

Ben nods gratefully.

Klaus jimmies the blade out of the wall and heads down the wooden staircase, already feeling anxiety welling up in his gut. He wishes he’d finished his text to Dave, about how much he cries now. Especially since it’s probably going to happen again as soon as Dave’s name passes through his lips.

He’s stuck at the top of the staircase that faces the front door. He’s about to turn back and accept that Ben will be pissed with him when Diego walks through it, leading an empty, dusty wheelbarrow.

“No way you’re gonna help, right?” he asks as soon as he notices Klaus.

“No way. But you’re doing a great job, bro. Why would I get in the way of that?”

Diego rolls his eyes and hides his smile, like he always does when Klaus says stupid shit (when Klaus says anything). He starts rolling the wheelbarrow back towards the basement when Klaus remembers his horrendous chore.

He shuffles down a few steps. “Hey, Diego?”

His brother doesn’t stop. “What?” he calls over his shoulder.

“I have to talk to you for a second,” Klaus says, hoping maybe Diego won’t care enough and will just keep walking.

No such luck. Unfortunately for Klaus, he’s Diego’s favorite sibling.

“What is it?” Diego says as he puts down the wooden handles.

Klaus tries to figure out how to start. “I- uh… I have your knife,” he says and waves it loosely through the air.

“‘Kay. Give it back. That it?"

“Yes,” he concedes to his baser instincts, “Yeah, that’s it.” He should have planned this out. Maybe he should wait a few days and-

 “Alright, what.” Diego crosses his arms. “You don’t bite your nails unless you got serious shit on your mind. Please- don’t give me those big eyes, of course I noticed. You gonna tell me or not?”

Klaus hadn’t realized he’d been biting his nails to begin with. Or giving Diego any eyes.

“Can we do this someplace else?” he says.

“Sure. Just one second so I can tell Luther to go fuck himself with this demolition shit.”  
  


Diego returns from the basement far too soon. “Luther whined about me bailing,” he says, “But he feels so guilty about locking Vanya up down there that he shut his mouth pretty quick. He thinks of this as his penance, or something.” 

Klaus sits him down at the bar in the library, and sits next to him for a moment before deciding he has to stand. It’s impossible to sit still under _normal_ circumstances for Klaus, so this would be out of the question. He curls his toes against the carpet a few times before clapping his hands together.

“So.”

Diego raises his eyebrows.

“So,” Klaus says again. “So. You remember, way back, before the apocalypse, that goofy little afternoon where you and I pummeled some veterans? And I was a little out of sorts-“

“Crying like a baby.“

“A little out of sorts.”

Diego squints his eyes, looks Klaus up and down. “This about whoever it was you lost?”

Klaus hopes the look on his face is enough to answer, and it is. Diego nods thoughtfully. “What was her name?”

 “Her name was Dave,” Klaus answers, and he hears Ben snort from the couch to his left.

If this shocks Diego, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he doesn’t seem to react at all. “Why haven’t I ever heard of Dave before?" 

Slowly, Klaus begins to explain. He tells Diego as much as he can about his time with Hazel and Cha-Cha without mentioning Patch (but he can see her, written all over Diego’s face). He explains about the briefcase, and where he ended up after opening it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Diego holds up a hand, “You fought in the shit?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Ten months.” He goes on to tell him about his duties as a soldier; from setting up camp to killing in cold blood.

He hasn’t mentioned him yet, and Diego notices.

“So, how does Dave fit into all of this?”

Klaus hears Ben stand up and come closer to him. “You can say it, Klaus. You have to say it.”

“Dave was another soldier in my unit. He was the first person I saw when I landed there, actually. And the first person I officially met. He had this way about him, he… I don’t know how to explain it. He was kind, and strong, and vulnerable, and beautiful. And he actually thought those things about me, too. Shocking, I know. But he did. And then he was gone.”

“Were you there when...?” Diego’s tone is gentle; this is the way he talks to Mom.

“Mm. How’d you guess?” Klaus forces a tight-lipped smile. “One second he was there, and the next- you get it. And as soon as he was _gone,”_ he chokes on the word, “I came back. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I barely told Ben. Then the whole _apocalypse_ thing, then our cheery little rewind to bust out Vanya from the bunker, and, well…. I just kept not telling you. And the longer I didn’t say it, the less real it was. Or some garbage like that.”

“Why now?”

“Oh, you can give the credit to Ben. He bitched at me until I agreed to tell someone just to shut his stupid mouth,” Klaus points to Ben, who waves amicably.

Diego has been, throughout Klaus’ tale, observing him like a window he’s about to burst through, or a moving target. It’s like he’s aiming.

“Why haven’t you conjured him?”

“Can’t.” Klaus knows that if he talks in more than monosyllables now, he’ll start crying and Diego won’t know how to deal with that, try as he might. “It won’t work.”

“What? What do you mean ‘it won’t work’, why not?”

“Just won’t,” Klaus chips at his nail polish. Maybe later today he and Allison can do Claire’s nails. “He won’t come. He doesn’t want to, or something,” Klaus looks to the floor and scrunches his face up, re-applies the fake smile.

Not-Dave is looking at him from across a crowded bar.

“Okay. I’m calling a time-out on this conversation. How about it, huh? We can rehash this whole messy thing later. But for now, you know the gist, right? So let’s go to intermission for a bit. That’s the sports one, right?”

“Halftime,” Diego says. “But, Klaus-“

“No, no, I think I’m alright. You’re busy, we’re all busy. I have nails to redo, and you’ve got lots of rocks to move, so who’s got the time,” he begins ushering Diego out of the library.

At the door, Diego stops and turns. He puts a gloved hand on Klaus’ chest. “I get it, Klaus. Trust me, I get it,” he puts his other hand firmly on Klaus’ shoulder. “And I’m here for you when you’re ready.”

“Right back at you.”

Diego’s touch goes slack. He nods, and backs out of the library back towards the abandoned wheelbarrow. As Klaus starts toward the staircase, Diego calls out.

“One question.”

Klaus turns.

“If Dave hadn’t died… would you have come back?”

Klaus thinks of a farmhouse he doesn’t live in and cats he doesn’t have.

“What do you think?”

  
  
  


**TERMINATE BIKASH BISTA.**

**KATHMANDU, NEPAL.**

**1754.**

  
  
  


Klaus waits for the ambush. It won’t be like the ones he’s used to. This ambush won’t be from above, or use snipers and guerilla warfare. He won’t prepare himself for it in a foxhole, his ankles tangled up with Dave’s.

This ambush will be words- questions, more specifically.

“Diego told me something interesting. Care to confirm?”

“So, who’s Dave?”

“When were you going to tell us?”

And so on and so on and so on until he dies of old age, surrounded by no one.

But the ambush doesn’t come.

As far as Klaus can tell, Diego hasn’t told a soul about Dave, or Vietnam. He shouldn’t be surprised, really.

The next morning, Klaus is eating breakfast with Allison and Claire. Allison is pretending to turn her back so that Klaus can “secretly” pile more and more whipped cream onto Claire’s waffles. It’s an unbearably domestic scene, and Klaus doesn’t actually mind.

He likes being Uncle Klaus. Even if Uncle Klaus is a bit of a pushover.

They’re joined by a teenage girl wearing a skimpy outfit and a face of smudged makeup, leaning up against the sink. Her neck is snapped, her head hanging at an impossible angle. She’s a gruesome sight, but he’ll take what he can get- at least she’s quiet.

Diego strides into the kitchen and makes a beeline for the fridge. Klaus leans in to whisper to Claire.

“Hey, watch this,” he says, “Uncle Diego is about to do something gross.”

Sure enough, Diego goes straight for the eggs, cracking one directly into his mouth and swallowing it raw.

Klaus and Claire both start yelling. “Eww, Uncle Diego!”

“Set an example for the kids, why don’t you?”

Diego just rolls his eyes. “Your Uncle Klaus is full of it, Claire,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Know what that means?”

Claire shakes her head.

“It means that he’ll make fun of me for eating eggs, but I _saw_ him eat paint once.”

“You what?” Allison winces.

“I was twenty two, I was practically a baby,” Klaus says indignantly.

“You were eating paint at _twenty two?”_

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Diego leans over the table, so he’s nose to nose with Claire. “ _That’s_ what “full of it” means,” he winks.

The little girl watches the exchange with glee. Diego’s nervous around kids, Klaus knows. But he relates best to Claire when using Klaus as bait.

Diego straightens up and turns to go. He doubles back. “Klaus,” he says, “You got a minute? It’s about our conversation yesterday.”

Klaus feels his spine straighten, his eyes dart to Allison to see if she’s picking up on anything strange.

He nods and excuses himself, ignoring her pointed stare as he goes.

“Listen,” Diego tilts his chin down, like he so often does when Klaus has fucked up. They’re in the hall, but he keeps his voice low nonetheless. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything. But I think you should tell everyone else about Dave.”

He sighs. “I know that they- that _we_ haven’t always been the best siblings. But we’re trying, right? That’s the whole point of living back here in this fuckin’ house. They’ll want to know. And you’ll be able to start to move on.”

Klaus blinks rapidly, until some of the glitter he’d put on his eyelids earlier starts dotting his periphery.

“What if I don’t want to move on?” he says quietly.

Diego doesn’t respond to that. He wouldn’t know what to say, even if he tried.

Instead, he just shakes his head and says: “You got this, baby brother.”

  
  
  


**TERMINATE OISIN CARNEY.**

**COUNTY ARMAGH, NORTHERN IRELAND.**

**1981.**

  
  


Klaus actually practices- Ben sits on his bed as he tells the story over and over again. He talks about Vietnam and Dave until some of the stories just sound like words.

Ben says that’s a good thing, but Klaus isn’t so sure. What he’d said to Diego was true: he doesn’t want to move on.

He doesn’t want to heal.  He just wants Dave back. And the fact that he’s the one person in human history who _should_ be capable of getting him back, but _can’t,_ makes him want to tear his hair out.

As he tells his story to Ben for a third time, his audience grows. The old woman sits on the bed. She’s gradually joined by a few other wandering spirits who don’t feel like screaming their heads off.

Klaus thinks back to countless nights spent huddled around a cot, surrounded by a small crowd like this. All eyes trained on him as he spun a tale. And, at the back of the crowd, always the back of the crowd- Dave. Looking at him with a glint in his eye that says more than Klaus’ stories ever could.

Dave’s not looking at him now.

  


**TERMINATE SARAH CROMPTON.**

**WINDSOR, ONTARIO, CANADA.**

**2006.**

  


He waits for Claire to be gone. The subject is too raw for her to be running around the house, reminding him of youth and joy and shit he can’t have anymore. 

When Allison and Luther come back from the airport, Klaus is lurking by the front door, biting his nails. Not-Dave takes his hand and kisses it.

Luther can immediately see that something is wrong. “What is it?” he asks.

Klaus forces his hand down to his side and tries to ignore Allison’s red rimmed eyes. “Family meeting,” he says. “Right now.”

He leads them into the library, where Diego, Vanya, and Five are already waiting. Vanya is sitting patiently on the sofa, while Diego leans on a marble column and Five paces back and forth on the carpet. He glares at Klaus as soon as he re-enters, Allison and Luther in tow.

“Jesus, Klaus, are you going to tell us what this is about or not?” he snaps. “We’ve been waiting all morning.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Vanya says.

Five grunts and angrily sits in the vacant spot to her left. “Let’s just get this over with.”

They’re all watching Klaus. He knows they mean well, and he knows it’s not voluntary, but they’re fixing him with that same look, the one he’s gotten from them for the last eighteen years.

The “You stumbled into my room last night covered in puke” face.

The “I know you stole my wallet” face.

The “Out of rehab again, huh?” face.

The useless, constant face of disappointment that he’s never been able to stand up to.

Klaus looks over at Diego, the only one who appears to be listening. Diego nods at him. _You got this, baby brother._

He starts talking.

  
  
  


**TERMINATE WALTER FORDHAM.**

**YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND.**

**1974.**

  
  


There’s a knock on Klaus’ bedroom door. 

“It’s open,” he calls.

The door swings open and Five looks down at Klaus, making tea on the floor.

“Since when do you knock?” Klaus says.

Five rocks back on his heels, hands balled up in his pockets. “I’ve spent time with soldiers,” he replies simply. “Appearing right in front of you would be jarring, potentially triggering, based on what you told us about-“

“This is already the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Klaus puts his hands over his heart. “I’m touched. Please go on, sorry for interrupting. You were saying something about how you’re a robot who’s slowly rebelling against its creator by learning to love?”

 Five rolls his eyes. “I can go,” he says.

“No, no. What is it?”

Stepping carefully into the room, Five looks around at the graffitied walls with distaste. “I thought, maybe, I could help you try to conjure your- whatever he was. Dave.”

Klaus sits up.

“So… you’re not going to make tea?” says the ghost crouching next to him. He looks down at Klaus through cracked glasses.

“Oh, shove it,” Klaus says, and stands up, walking right through him to get to Five.

Five quirks his brow. “What’s that?”

“Not you,” Klaus brushes off, “Can you really help me?”

“Probably. Vanya has a level of control we never thought possible, after just a few weeks of training. Your powers are less potentially destructive, and should be easier to test. I think I can help you get your soldier back within the week.”

“Uh…” Klaus squints his eyes. “Why? Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you get out of helping me with this…?”

“You’re my brother,” Five says. “It might shock you to learn this, but I care about you. Also, I want to see if I can. It’s a unique challenge.”

Klaus grins. “Look at you. You’ve gone soft.”

“I maintain the right to stop helping you the moment you start annoying me.”

“Well, what’s the point of that? I’m already annoying you.”

Five looks exasperatedly up at the ceiling. “Just sit on the floor. And take your shoes off. I want to test something.”

“Sounds sexy.”

“I also maintain the right to hit you.”

  
  


**TERMINATE EMEK AKSHOY.**

**ISTANBUL (FMR. CONSTANTINOPLE), TURKEY.**

**1923.**

  


They start by trying to reignite the blue force that had overtaken him that night in the Icarus Theater. He’d been able to repeat that performance a few times since, for long enough to give Ben a hug and half his pop tart. 

Once, he swears he’d started floating.

Now, Klaus is sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, palms out, eyes closed. He can feel the warm buzz in his fingertips start spreading up to his wrists.

“Blue?” he calls out.

“Blue,” Five and Ben answer together.

Five goes on. “Your power is focused when it’s in this state. If my inference is right, which it is, then right now you are being drawn to the dead, and not vice versa. A telescope, not a beacon. Do you follow?”

Klaus nods. “Okay, no offence, but how is this any different than what I’ve been doing for the past month? I reach out to him, and he doesn’t come.”

He hears Five kneel down to speak closer to his ear. “You’re reaching out to a single spirit, one who died decades ago. He won’t be as easy to reach as someone newly dead, or someone expecting to be found. Try reaching out, less to a person, and more to an atmosphere. Your power, like mine, operates through energy- do you understand what I mean? Just picturing Dave isn’t enough. You have to put yourself back where you were when you knew him.”

“Oh. This should be fun.”

Five claps his shoulder. “Go on.”

Klaus reaches out in his mind, like he has everyday for a month.

Dave.

He thinks of thick jungle.

Warm, sticky air.

Dave.

Loud, raucous night clubs.

Smoke, black and orange.

Bare limbs scraped against tree bark in the dead of night.

Story after story, of people who existed, but only to him.

Mud and clouds and guns and Dave.

“...Hargreeves? God, I _knew_ it!” someone cries.

Klaus’ eyes snap open. There’s no one there.

  
  


It hadn’t been him.

Even if it had been a while, even if pieces of Dave had been slipping away, Klaus knows he’d recognize his voice. From a thousand miles away.

Besides that- Dave would never call him ‘Hargreeves.’

“Five,” he splutters, “Did you see anything?”

Ben’s sitting on the bed, jaw opening and closing like a fish. “That was him.”

“What?”

“He was in old-school army gear. He knew you- you didn’t see him?”

“I heard him.” Klaus shakes his head rapidly to clear his head. He hears Not-Dave tell him that he looks like a wet dog before pushing the hair out of his eyes for him.

“It wasn’t him. I’d have known it, I’d have felt it. It must have been someone else.”

“Klaus-“ Five says.

“Let me try again.”

Artie doesn’t come back.

  
  


Five decides to call it quits an hour later, when Klaus almost barfs on his shoes.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he says.

They do. Again, Klaus conjures soldiers, some of whom he almost recognizes, some from entirely different wars. None of them Dave.

Five is growing frustrated, not with Klaus, but with himself. He’s started scribbling on Klaus’ walls with pencil, and Klaus doesn’t even try to read the cacophony of numbers and code words and graphs.

Three days into Klaus’ training, Five rubs a hand down his weary face as he studies the wall. “It’s actually _more_ complicated than Vanya in a lot of ways,” he’s muttering, and Klaus has no idea whether he’s being addressed or not.

“Vanya’s abilities are reactionary, they’re immediate. For her, the here and now is both the catalyst and the victim. But you-“

He whirls around and points at Klaus. The corners of his mouth are twisting up. “Your powers are about the past. It’s an abstract. Do you follow?”

Klaus looks at Ben, who shrugs.

“Sure.”

“You need a tether- at first you were using your raw memory of Dave. Then I had you use memories of the feelings and environments you associate with Dave, to simulate your past mental state. But that wasn’t enough, either. We need something more concrete.”

Five holds his hand out expectantly and stares at Klaus’ chest.

“What?” Klaus asks, looking down. “These?” he holds up Dave’s dog tags, which he hasn’t taken off since Richardson dropped them in his lap 50 years ago.

“Obviously.” Five gestures for the tags. “We need everything physical you might have that ties back to him,.” Klaus tentatively lifts the chain up and over his head.

“It may sound silly, but an actual _séance,_ with candles and symbols and all that, may be worth a try.” He snatches the tags out of Klaus’ hand and turns them over to examine them. “Human beings assign value to objects. I mean, look at me,” he says, then stops.

“Wow,” Klaus teases. “That’s harsh. I’ll tell Delores you said that… what?”

Five is frozen, eyes glued to the dog tag sitting on his palm.

“What is it?” Klaus asks again.

Five’s gaze darts up to Klaus for a fraction of a second, then back down. He looks wild.

“I have to go,” he says.

His knuckles, clutched around the chain, are white. “I have to go,” he repeats, and vanishes.

  
  


**TERMINATE IMKA DE BEER.**

**DURBAN, SOUTH AFRICA.**

**1881.**

  


He materializes in an empty alleyway, miles away from the scene.

 Imka De Beer would be sinking by now, blood still billowing from the knife wound in her gut, into the ocean that’s swallowing her whole.

If they ever find her, no one will know how or why she died. But they won’t ever find her.

Five checks to make sure he has everything he came with. He hadn’t needed to stop at an inn; he’d barely been here six hours before finishing the job.

Maybe he can get a few days off as a reward. He’s had a winning streak- fourteen kills in seventeen days. A Commission Record. He feels he deserves some kind of compensation for that before taking his next jaunt through time.

_Clang!_

No such luck.

Five turns to the sound: a pipe running down the side of the building next to him, the kind that collects rain, is screaming.

_Clang, crash, bang!_

The sound travels down the pipe until an pneumatic tube comes shooting out of the bottom. It rolls and bumps against Five’s shoe.

He sighs deeply and bends to pick it up, suppressing a groan. His back really isn’t what it used to be.

Five unravels the slip of paper coiled inside the tube.

  


**TERMINATE DAVID KATZ.**

**A SHAU VALLEY, THUA THIEN, VIETNAM.**

**1969.**

  
  


He bides his time. He’d considered taking the target down from a distance, back at the makeshift camp where he’d first seen him. But that would draw too much attention, and put a whole platoon of soldiers on him. Not worth the convenience. 

So, Five waits. Even if his legs are weaker than they once were, his powers are stronger than ever, so tailing David Katz is easy. He stays a safe distance to the unit’s left, staying low in the underbrush, waiting. As soon as Katz is out of sight, Five jumps a dozen or so yards ahead. It’s almost _too_ easy.

He trails the unit for the remainder of the afternoon. They don’t come into any trouble, he notes.

Dusk begins to fall. Five sees the V.C. coming before the unit does.

Perfect. They can do the job for him.

He teleports into the high branches of a Banyan tree and watches the battle play out.  
  


 

David Katz is crouched behind a pile of sandbags, rifle aimed ahead. There are men on either side of him- so he’ll have to be taken from above.

Five jumps to a closer tree, careful to keep his briefcase balanced by his feet. He settles himself in a nook, with thick coverage and enough space to aim.

Before he pulls the trigger, his only thought is the hope that he’ll get compensation if he twists his ankle in this damn tree.

His aim, as always, is perfect.

David Katz crumples facedown into the mud.

Five is reaching for the briefcase when he hears screams. He raises an eyebrow and peers down below.

He can’t see David Katz.

He’s being obstructed by another man- presumably where the screams are coming from. The other soldier has wild hair and a skinny frame, but other than that, Five doesn’t get a good look at him.

He shouts for a medic at the top of his lungs, but none come.

Five’s been in war zones before- plenty of men need to die in just the right way at just the right time, so Temporal Assassins are littered on every battlefield. About forty jobs ago, Five had stopped wondering why his victims affect the timeline. He’s killed quite a few important, famous people. But for every General Custer, there are twenty Imka De Beers. Inconsequential, unfortunate, nobodies.

So he shouldn’t feel anything about the fallen soldier, or his buddy leaning over him. But there’s something else happening.

The man starts rocking David Katz back and forth, pressing a desperate kiss into his hair.

Not a buddy, then.

But that’s not what catches Five’s eye.

In this position, he can see Katz’s face as it’s cupped by the man’s hand.

Five raises his rifle to get a better look through the sight. Close up, he can see a faint blue light, emanating from David Katz’s cheek.

The man holding him doesn’t seem to see it, but Five smirks to himself. He knows that sort of light. He has it himself.

David Katz needed to be dead, obviously, if he has superpowers. Like Five. Like the siblings he left in the rubble all those years ago.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, and opens the briefcase.

He doesn’t think about David Katz again.

  
  


**TERMINATE JAKOB STEINER.**

**SARAJEVO, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY.**

**1914.**

  


Klaus hurries down the stairs and into the library, where Vanya and Diego are discussing 80’s punk.

“Where’s Five?” Klaus interrupts.

“Dunno,” says Diego. “He’s not with you?”

“He was acting weird- weirder than usual. Then he just-“ he snaps his fingers.

He leaves out the fact that Five has Dave’s dog tags. Not-Dave is here, of course, telling Klaus that everything will be okay.

Diego and Vanya help him search the house, but Five is gone. 

Luther and Allison, who’d been hiding out in the attic, join the search and suggest they split up.

Allison and Vanya take the public library. Luther heads to the Icarus, since Five still hasn’t gotten over the apocalypse that wasn’t.

Klaus and Diego are going to the department store, where Five’s... _ex-wife_ lives. As the streets fly past the car window, Klaus subconsciously feels for the dog tags, and finds nothing. Not-Dave tells him softly that it’s just a hunk of metal. None of it really matters, in the end.

Not-Dave is so annoying. What the fuck does he know?

A bright sign whizzes past Klaus’ vision.

“Stop,” he says suddenly. “Stop here!”

Diego pulls over without hesitation. He follows Klaus’ pointing finger. “Oh, shit. Of course.” He pulls into the mostly empty parking lot and starts to get out.

Klaus stops him. “Let me go in alone, okay?”

Diego seems concerned- what’s new- but acquiesces. “I’ll wait here. Don’t take too long.”

“Yes, Mom,” Klaus says, and steps out of the car. He stares up at the cheery pink neon.

 

GRIDDY’S DOUGHNUTS

 

Through the window, he catches an angry looking tween staring right at him, one fist clenched around a mug of coffee, the other firmly at his side.

Klaus gives him an enthusiastic wave, which he ignores, and heads in.

“Heya, bud,” Klaus says as he enters. Five is sitting at the table to the right of the door, his left side against the window. As he takes the seat opposite his big brother, Klaus adds, “Y’know, I’m happy to see that you take your own advice. ‘Always sit near the exit. Sleep with one eye open, Klaus’”.

Five is glaring at his coffee. He says nothing.

“So,” Klaus tries again, “You ducked outta there pretty quick. Wanna talk about it?”

Crickets. Under the table, Five’s leg bounces up and down rapidly.

“Okay. I get it. Could I at least get those dog tags back?”

It doesn’t seem possible, but Five tenses up even more. “They’re important to me,” Klaus finishes.

Slowly, Five raises his clenched fist from his side, and holds it over the table. With a sigh, he drops the dog tags with a ‘clink’.

“Thanks,” Klaus puts them on. They’re warm, like they’ve been suffocating in that fist for ages. He considers speaking again, but before he can think of what to say, Five pipes up.

“I have something to tell you.”

His voice is clipped and quiet. He still won’t look up at Klaus.

“Alright,” Klaus says, “But Diego’s waiting outside, so make it quick.” He gives a halfhearted chuckle.

“Do you understand,” Five says, “Exactly what my former employer does?”

“No, you’ve only reminded us about thirty times. I need a refresher.”

“Stop it.” Five lowers his head and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to say something now. And you have to trust that, despite my… general attitude, I value your opinion of me. You and all the others’. I say this because what I am about to say will ruin it, potentially forever.”

“Christ on a cracker, I’m sure it’s no-“

“Let me finish.”

He clears his throat, folds his hands on the table, and looks squarely into Klaus’ eyes. His jaw is set; he’s forcing himself to do this.

“The Commission works to rehabilitate the timeline. Anyone that could potentially damage the fate of the world in any way has to be eliminated. I never agreed with this code, but I was gainfully employed and I wasn’t about to complain. And I was good at my work. The best. I disposed of targets more efficiently than any T.A. in history.”

“T-“

“Temporal Assassin. My point is, after a while, they all started to blend together. The time periods, the cities… the people. I couldn’t name half of my victims for you right now. And I wouldn’t want to. If you’re attached to anyone in that line of work, you’re more than useless. You’re soft.”

Five gulps.

“Which is why I didn’t put it together until you handed me those,” he gestures at the chain around Klaus’ neck.

“Put what together...?” Klaus asks softly.

“I’m sorry, Klaus. You can’t know how much I regret-“

“Put _what_ together?” he sits up in his chair.

Five shuts his eyes for a long moment.

“I had orders. I couldn’t have known that you- that anything was different from what I did everyday.”

He examines Klaus, and sees that he has to say it.

He has to say it.

“I killed him.”

  
  


**TERMINATE HAMNET SHAKESPEARE.**

**STRATFORD UPON AVON, ENGLAND.**

**1596.**

  
  


Once, not long into his time in Vietnam, Klaus got separated from his unit.

They’d been on patrol. He and Dave were towards the back of the group, joking around quietly so no one would overhear.

He remembers looking at Dave that day, and cursing himself for being such a coward. He knew how Dave felt about him- he was terrible at covering it up- and let day after day go by, doing nothing about it. Normally, Klaus barely waited for a guy to check him out before making a move.

But Dave was different. Terrifyingly, monumentally different. And Klaus was being tortured.

He was about to try flirting again when the world went grey.

There was no loud explosion- there was no sound at all. Klaus couldn’t see anything but smoke and dust. He knew he was on the ground; the mud was slick and the high reeds he’d been thrown into scratched at his arms and face.

But even that felt imaginary.

He couldn’t see, hear, feel _anything_ except an ache stretching through every cell in his body.

He’d never felt so trapped. He half-expected to blink his eyes and wake up on the cold, hard floor of the mausoleum that haunted his nightmares.

Klaus had laid still in the reeds for who knows how long. Slowly, the world came swimming into view. The sky, turning orange with the setting sun. The ringing in his ears began to die down. He could hear cicadas.

He forced himself back up to his feet, and saw absolutely no one. He didn’t know what the policy was for leaving a man behind in Vietnam, but he thought maybe it didn’t apply to stowaways from the future.

And, of course, his radio was broken.

He’d set off down the ravaged path with his gun drawn, hoping that he was right about which direction they’d come from. He walked for at least five miles before seeing another person.

It was a different group of soldiers, but they were able to direct Klaus back to camp.

He won’t forget how Dave looked at him when he returned. The relief in his eyes. Klaus wasn’t used to people worrying about him- in a life full of stumbling home late at night covered in dirt, this was the first time someone cared.

  
  


The world is grey again now.

Klaus can feel the chair under him. He can feel the floor. But it’s as if they aren’t really there.

He can’t see. He can’t hear. Trapped.

_I killed him._

There isn’t an escape this time, is there? If he sits in this chair for hours, nothing is going to swim into view, his hearing won’t clear up. The explosion is going to keep happening, on and on, forever.

He can’t walk back to Dave.

_I killed him._

He feels his head shake, quick and constant, like a tremor. He feels his throat close up. He hears his own voice. At least he can hear something.

“No,” he’s mumbling. “No, no, no. Don’t- don’t tell me that. Please, don’t tell me that.”

“I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say,” there’s another person talking. Oh, yeah. Five.

Five, who killed Dave. His brother, Five. Five killed Dave.

How long has it been since he said it? There’s no way to know.

Klaus stands, sending the chair skittering behind him. He tells his feet to leave, but they won’t.

Instead, he looks at Five incredulously. He can’t feel himself shaking, or sobbing, but there are hot, heavy tears about to fall. “Why-“ he gasps. “Why would you tell me?”

“You deserved to know. I had to tell you.”

“No,” Klaus says. “No.”

He storms out the door and through the parking lot. Distantly, as though he’s on a patchy phone call, he hears Diego. “Klaus? Where are you going? Klaus!”

Klaus doesn’t stop.

He heads down the street, going nowhere. In his periphery, he sees a few spirits gazing at him in wonder. They set off too, hot at his heels.

Klaus speeds up, ignoring the tears falling thick and fast onto the pavement. The ghosts behind him are shouting- not to him, but to each other. Klaus doesn’t listen to them.

He’s almost running now, and bumps into a man holding a bouquet of flowers. Klaus doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t stop. He’s hoping that maybe the world is flat, and he’ll keep walking and walking until he falls clean off.

The roar of the dead is getting louder, Klaus registers. He glances over his shoulder.

The street is becoming congested with corpses. Old and young, dirty and clean, all heading straight towards him. Klaus looks down and is met with blinding blue light where his hands should be. He shoves them in his jacket pockets and keeps going. Every ghost he passes on the busy street gasps as they’re brought suddenly into and then out of the real world as soon as Klaus brushes by.

They each join the crowd, the massive horde of the dead- hundreds of them- demanding to know what he’s doing. Demanding life. The whole street is bright blue. He hears an echo of Not-Dave, trying to calm him down after a nightmare. _Klaus, hey. Hey, look at me. It's okay._

Klaus ducks into an alley and sinks to the ground. He fumbles for his phone, but his hands are shaking too hard for him to open it and send a text to himself. 

He writes it in his mind.

 

_brokeback-_

_tell me this is a joke. you cant do this to me. you cant you cant you c_

 

He presses two glowing hands to his ears and screams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment and/or chat to me on tumblr!! 
> 
> shameful-shameless.tumblr.com


	3. lilac wine ~ part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -NOT required, but reading the first section of chapter two again (ie when klaus was a child) will make this chapter read better. but no worries if you dont have time trust me i get it and it will make sense either way  
> -im sorry it took so long!!! it means the world to me if youre still invested in this fic!!  
> -i know, im extending AGAIN. but this chapter was getting absurdly long so it makes sense to just get half of it to you now!  
> -im still allergic to paragraphs get used to it

 

_i. fray_

 

Diego picks again at the loose thread on his sweater. He’s trying to be more patient with his family- especially Klaus- but the longer he sits behind the wheel, the more antsy he becomes.

He cranes his neck to try and get a better look at the shop. Through the window, he can see Five and Klaus sitting at a table close to the exit. If he was closer, he’d be able to read their lips.

As he’s considering whether or not to fish his binoculars out of the cluttered backseat, Klaus shoots out of his chair, shaking his head frantically. Five is leaning forward, over the table.

Klaus turns on his heel and darts out of Griddy’s. Diego leans over to unlock the passenger seat door, but stops when Klaus appears to be passing him right by. Diego hurriedly gets out and calls after his brother, who’s almost to the sidewalk. “Klaus? Where are you going?"

He doesn’t so much as throw a middle finger over his shoulder.

“Klaus!” Diego yells again.

Klaus turns at the curb and heads down the street, out of sight.

“Shit,” Diego mutters as he slams the car door, ready to set off after him.

“Don’t.”

Five materializes before him, blocking his path. “Let him go,” he says solemnly.

“What happened in there?” Diego asks, already following Klaus’ route.

“I’m telling you,” Five is hot on his heels. “You can’t-“ he stops cold, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

Diego follows his gaze. “Five,” he says. “What’s going on?”

Down the road, in the direction Klaus had gone, there’s a bright blue dot. As they watch, it grows larger and larger, illuminating the street and all its occupants. Diego blinks. No, there weren’t this many people here, even a moment ago.

As it spreads, humans materialize out of the air the light touches, like they’re being formed from dust.

They’re dead. It’s not hard to tell, even with Diego’s extremely limited experience with ghosts. Some of the crowd have missing limbs, bleeding wounds, and festering boils. And they’re all yelling, clamoring to get ahead of one another.

It looks like some twisted march; people congesting the street and sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder as they trudge onwards. They’re walking away from Griddy’s. Above them, around them, even shining _through_ some of them, is that bright cerulean glow, getting harsher by the second.

It’s hard to make out exactly what they’re crying for, but he definitely catches his little brother’s name. A lot.

Above it all, they hear a bloodcurdling scream. A man, by the sound of the voice, a ways down the road. Diego knows who it is, he feels it in his guts. He starts for the road again.

Five, who has been standing dumbstruck, turns back to him. “We have to get out of here,” he says.

“Wh- ‘get out of here?” Diego says incredulously. “What about Klaus?”

He can feel panic rise up in his throat. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows Klaus can’t deal with it by himself.

“I can explain everything-“

“Okay, go for it.”

“Not right now! There’s nothing we can do to stop this.” Five gulps. “His powers are, admittedly, stronger than I thought, but they’re not cataclysmic. As soon as he calms down, those spirits will go away. But we’re not going to be able to get through that crowd.”

“You can teleport!” Diego reminds him gruffly.

Five is infuriatingly calm in the face of crisis. If he were in an older body, Diego would have him by the collar.

“Please. He can’t see me right now.” He means it. “Trust me. I did something… unforgivable.”

Five has always been open about his torrid, violent past. It’s hard for Diego to imagine that there could be anything so horrible that he would be ashamed to say it. Something so horrible that Klaus set off a ghost-bomb upon learning it.

Diego thinks of how Klaus must be reacting to this, the approaching mob of the dead. He can picture him, clear as day, knotting his hands in his hair, scratching his arms and legs to bits, banging his head against a wall. Things he did when they were kids, and the ghosts wouldn’t go away. Now, after Dave, after whatever happened with Five, this might push Klaus over the edge.

Over the roar of the dead, Diego wouldn’t be able to hear any more of Klaus’ wails.

“I’ll explain everything back at the Academy. Just come with me.” Five says evenly.

There’s a lump in Diego’s throat that he forces himself to swallow. “He’s our b-b-b-“

He shuts his eyes.

“We’ll find him. Trust me,” Five says again. “But we need the Academy.”

Every instinct Diego has tells him not to follow Five into the car. But he does it anyway. He hates every step he takes.

Diego keeps his eyes on the rearview mirror, watching the horde of ghosts- and his little brother, somewhere among them- slip further and further away.

 

  
  
_ii. drip_

 

Five hasn’t told Diego whatever he’d told Klaus. He’d asked in the car, to which Five simply responded- “Later. I don’t want to say it twice.”

Now, Five is sitting them all down in the library, the same way Klaus had a few days ago to tell them about Dave.

He doesn’t seem as nervous. Instead, he looks haggard, every one of his 58 hellish years written on his face. For the first time since he dropped back into their lives, Five looks _old._

Vanya notices the elephant in the room. “Where’s Klaus?”

“He’s alright”, says Five.

“We don’t know that,” Diego adds coldly from the corner.

Allison looks at him with alarm. “Did something happen?” she asks in her hoarse, tepid voice.

Diego sarcastically holds his hand out towards Five. _Take it away._

“When Klaus was training with me,” says Five slowly, “I discovered that… I _knew_ Dave.”

“Dave?” Luther asks. “Klaus’ Dave?”

“‘ _Knew_?’” adds Allison.

Five nods once. “... He was one of my victims.” He says it so quickly Diego has to replay it in his mind three times before it hits him.

Rather than picturing any sort of heinous assassination, he sees an eleven year old Klaus at his bedroom door.

Blood is dripping from his fingertips onto the floor, trickling from the long scratches he’s dug into his forearms with his nails. Drip, drip, drip. “ _I don’t want to show Mom. Can you help?”_

He’s always been so easily breakable.

The others begin to calmly ask questions, which Five answers with matching steadiness. They all start blending together in Diego’s mind. It’s like he’s hearing them through water.

Drip, drip, drip.

 

_Are you sure?_

“Yes, I’m sure.”

 

_How did you not see-?_

“I remember seeing Klaus… holding him. Trying to save him. But I didn’t recognize him at the time.”

 

_Why would The Commission want Dave dead?_

“I never asked why. I assume that they needed Klaus back here. Him staying in Vietnam would have damaged the timeline- he’s extremely powerful, as we’ve learned. At first I thought Dave was the one with powers, but it makes sense now. It was Klaus.”

 

Diego’s reverie is broken by Vanya’s last question:

“Does Klaus know?”

Diego thinks of Klaus at Griddy’s, leaping out of his chair, hurtling past him into the street. He remembers the blinding light surrounding the walking dead like a halo. And that scream.

He answers for Five. “Yeah. Klaus knows.”

This is bullshit, he thinks. Suddenly, he straightens and heads for the door.

“Where are you going,” Luther calls after him. “We have to come up with a plan.”

Diego turns on his heel. He and Luther had found some semblance of peace since stopping the apocalypse, but Diego isn’t going just to sit by and do things his way. Not now.

He feels the old flare of resentment for Luther rear its ugly head.

“A plan _?”_ he sneers. “Klaus is out there right now, terrified. He just got the worst news of his life, and he has to deal with it, alone, while we sit here and think of a _plan?”_ He smirks coldly and points to the teenager sulking behind Luther.

“One part of this story that Five left out- I was there when he told Klaus. I saw him run away, and the next thing I knew, there were hundreds of ghosts riding his ass. That _I could see.”_

Everyone’s eyes are wide, save for Five, who refuses to look over at Diego. Under less pressing circumstances, Diego might feel bad for him. But he doesn’t.

 _“_ He’s in trouble, Luther,” he goes on, “Either he’s ripping his hair out trying to get away from them, or he’s OD’ing on the side of the road somewhere. Either way, I’m going after him. You’re welcome to join me.”

He doesn’t wait for Luther to accept his offer. He stalks out the front door and into the night.

As he unlocks his car door, he hears clicking, fast and loud behind him. “Diego!”

He turns and sees Allison, running towards him as fast as she can in her too-high heels.

“I’m coming,” she wheezes.

“You’re not gonna wait for a plan? _”_ he scoffs.

“Fuck their plan.”

Diego nods.

They ignore the speed limit.

 

_iii. nina_

 

Klaus drifts awake slowly. He wiggles his toes against the clean linen and burrows his head deeper into the pillow before bothering to open his eyes.

When he finally does, there is late morning light streaming through the cracked window. He takes another moment to watch dust fly about in the warm sunbeam, propelled by the breeze.

There isn’t anywhere he has to be, he thinks with a slow smile. A lazy Sunday.

He swings his feet onto the hardwood floor and stretches before throwing some pajama pants onto his naked body and heading into the hallway.

He shoots a glance at the art lining the walls: paintings from farmer’s markets, small auctions, or the side of the road. None of them match, but he’s never cared.

He treads down the squeaky stairs, which are adorned with a different bright pattern on every step. At the bottom, he hears movement in the kitchen. Instead, he walks into the room directly to his right, the one with the big archway instead of a door.

Klaus looks around contentedly- this is his favorite place in the house.

It’s supposed to be a cozy library, with bookshelves lining the wall from floor to ceiling. Instead, there are sleeves and sleeves of vinyls, all chosen by him over the last four years. He lazily runs his finger along their sleeves before landing on the one.

Soft piano floods the house.

 

_“I lost myself on a cool damp night / Gave myself in that misty light…”_

 

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back toward the ceiling. There aren’t any ghosts here- there never are- and it hits him anew sometimes: how nice it is to feel autonomous. Everything he can see is so very alive.

He’s shaken from his stupor by something soft swiping across his shin.

“Hello, monster,” he hums. Duchess Anastasia meows half-heartedly in response, and weaves once between his ankles before darting out of the room.

He follows her into the kitchen, where she and her sisters will be getting fed any minute. The music grows quieter as he goes, until it’s a soft drone.

 

“ _It makes me see what I want to see / And be what I want to be…”_

 

He pauses in the doorway.

“I know you like this song,” says the man by the stove. His back is turned to Klaus. “But it’s too sad. On a morning like this…?”

“I will slap you,” Klaus replies. “No such thing as a bad time for Nina.”

Klaus wanders across the floor to wrap his arms around Dave’s waist before he can turn around.

“You gonna slap me?” he asks.

Klaus grins. “I’m undecided… what’s on the menu?” he hums against Dave’s shoulder.

“Something healthy.”

“Goddamn,” Klaus wrinkles his nose. “I’ll eat with the cats.”

Dave laughs. “Don’t be mean.”

“How is it mean if your food tastes the same?"

 

_“I drink much more that I ought to drink / because it brings me back you…”_

 

Dave turns around and pushes Klaus’ hair out of his eyes. “‘Morning,” he says softly.

Klaus smiles again. Dave kisses him quickly and turns back to the stove.

“Get off,” he throws over his shoulder. “I’ve burned too much shit because of you.”

Klaus hops up onto the counter next to the stove. He loves to watch Dave learn to cook, even though he’s bad at it. He loves to watch Dave curse at the smell of his own creations scorching, he loves to watch Dave later, looking at him sheepishly from across a diner booth and  _insisting_ that he’ll figure out how to bake a potato.

Klaus loses himself to the sound of the music, the smell of vegetables oh-so-close to blackening. Dave drifts in and out of focus.

It wasn’t like this in Vietnam. Even after they’d finally gotten together, they never actually _stopped._ They had no real moments of peace, not even in their secret spots or motel rooms. Knowing that any day could have been their last, knowing that getting caught together could destroy their lives- they’d lived on the razor’s edge.

But not here. Here, Klaus can sit on the counter and close his eyes. He can breathe deeply and know that Dave will be there when he opens them again.

And he is.

 

_“Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love…”_

 

Dave’s abandoned the stove. He’s standing between Klaus’ legs, looking up at him with those gleaming blue eyes. It’s the stare he’d give Klaus while he told the unit about The Umbrella Academy. How he’d look at him from across the room, at the back of the crowd.

“What?” Klaus asks.

Dave shakes his head. “Nothing. We should have danced more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said that to me once,” he says tenderly. “You told me that we should have danced more.”

Klaus laces their fingers together. “I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t think you said it this time,” Dave knits his eyebrows. “But you said it last time. You wrote it to me.”

“Last time?” Klaus feels a wicked uneasiness rise up in his stomach.

Dave breaks into his wide, dopey grin. “Well?” he says, and drags Klaus off the counter by their interlocked hands.

The uneasy feeling fades away as quickly as it came.

Dave pulls him close. It reminds Klaus of how people dance in old movies, when they’re really in love. Slow, steady. Not dancing, really, just turning. Holding. The feeling that if a tornado ripped through the kitchen right now, he and Dave wouldn’t be pulled away from each other. Security.

 

_“Listen to me / Why is everything so hazy…?”_

 

He feels a cat walk through their legs, but doesn’t open his eyes to see which one it is.

He asks Dave if his breakfast will burn.

Dave says no.

 

_“Isn’t that he / Or am I going crazy, dear…?”_

 

Klaus doesn’t remember what unrest, discomfort feels like. Such a thing doesn’t exist.

The music cuts out. The silence feels cold.

Dave starts whispering something in his ear, but Klaus can’t make it out.

“What’s that?” he asks, chuckling. He feels Dave’s hand reach up to cradle the back of his head as he leans in.

“I said,” Dave mutters, “I killed him.”

Klaus recoils. “What?”

Dave’s expression is blank. “I killed him,” he repeats.

“Killed- what? Who’d you… ?” Klaus trails off. The light coming through the window is gone. He tears himself away and steps toward it, craning his neck to see that the sun has set completely.

He turns back to Dave. He starts to ask what’s going on, but stops dead. Dave is standing in the middle of the kitchen, silent, as blood pours from his chest.  

Klaus catches him before he hits the ground, just barely.

“Dave? Dave!” he’s sputtering dumbly. Blood is trickling from the side of the lips Klaus had kissed only minutes ago.

He frantically presses his hands to the wound over Dave’s heart. He’s overcome with a dreadful feeling of deja vu.

Without knowing why, he shouts for a medic. Their empty house doesn’t provide one.

“Dave, look at me,” he chokes. “Look at me, okay?”

He screams again for the medic that doesn’t exist. It feels like he’s reading from a script.

Dave looks like he wants to say something. Fear is bubbling off every inch of him, from his frantic expression to the tense hand clutching onto Klaus’ arm.

Klaus is begging him now, begging him.

He can see the light start to leave Dave’s eyes. He can’t watch that. He can’t watch it happen.

He pulls Dave close, he presses horrible, sweaty kisses into his hair.

Klaus holds him until his arms can’t stand it anymore.

The kitchen floor is more blood than tile.

The cats are nowhere to be seen.

Klaus peels his face away, and wearily looks back out the window- at the sky, black as tar.

“I killed him.”

It’s a different voice, one he hasn’t heard in a long time.

Klaus whirls around to see Number Five, sitting at the kitchen table, staring up at him over a book about mathematics. He can’t be more than eight years old.

“You… killed him,” Klaus croaks back.

Five sets down the book and vanishes, reappearing on the other side of Dave’s body. He looks down at Klaus.

Klaus knows what he’s about to say.

He remembers it so plainly- they were eight years old. He’d stolen Diego’s knife belt. Five had sent it swinging from the chandelier. When Diego demanded he help get it down, Five had said:

Five had shrugged and said:

What had he said? Maybe Klaus doesn’t remember, after all.

Distantly, the music kicks back in. The end of the song.

_“Lilac wine / I feel unready / For my love…”_

 

He remembers now.

Five shrugs and says:

 

“Fix it yourself.”

 

  
  
_iv. alley sonata no. 1_

 

“Wait!” Klaus jumps awake, and hits the back of his head on a brick wall.

He can’t remember how to think, but that might be for the best.

He’s back in the alleyway. There’s a fine layer of cold sweat covering him from head to toe. There’s a bottle clutched in his hand.

There’s no kitchen. No cats. No Nina. No Dave.

It’s a familiar scene, he thinks. Waking up after passing out in an alley. It’s almost comforting- it’s something he knows how to do. He takes another long swig of vodka and ignores how his hands shake.

The man at the liquor store counter had been terrified to sell him the booze. Klaus had stumbled in, sizzling blue, swarmed by a steady stream of horrors. Apparently, the man could see the ghosts too, because he ducked behind the counter, screaming.

Klaus had tried to explain as best he could, despite having lost his voice (and his sanity, as far as he could tell). He’d hurriedly told him that if he wanted the ghosts to go away, he’d sell Klaus the biggest bottle of the cheapest shit he had.

The man hadn’t counted the wad of cash Klaus had thrown haphazardly onto the counter.

Klaus opened it, then and there, and chugged until he saw stars.

Something else had happened, he remembers. As he forced the liquor down his throat, something within him had… glitched. All of the sudden, he saw himself from the outside, as if he was someone else. He felt sweat on the back of a neck that wasn’t his, he felt the uneven padding of worn, ugly shoes he would never buy.

He’d stood behind the counter of a shitty liquor store and watched himself, just for a moment. He wasn’t Klaus.

He’d blinked and opened his eyes to find himself back where he’d started, clutching the bottle to his lips. He’d looked around to see the ghosts mostly gone, and a foggy, vodka-induced haze surrounding the petrified cashier who he had just… what? Possessed?

Whatever had happened, Klaus hadn’t felt equipped (or motivated) to care. He’d stumbled out without a word.

It had been less than an hour since then. The bottle is almost empty.

Maybe he’s immortal after all. This much booze would take down a racehorse. Klaus, immortal. Wouldn’t that just be his fucking luck.

There are still a few spirits milling about- lurking above him on a fire escape, pacing up and down the alley. But they’re starting to get impatient with him: they’re not corporeal anymore, and he’s not about to explain to them why they were, or why he’ll make sure they never are again. As he drinks, more and more of them slip away and out of sight.

And then there’s Ben.

Klaus had been ignoring him right up until he passed out. But the truth is, Ben is the reason Klaus was able to lift his head up after collapsing in this alley the first time.

He might not be pleased to know that, actually, considering the first thing Klaus had done was stand up and get plastered.

“I’m not going away,” Ben says. “I know you can see me.”

Klaus is hit by a wave of dizziness; he shoves his head between his knees so he won’t puke. Again.

“Klaus.”

Even without a cult of ghosts raging around him, even drunk out of his mind, even while invading someone else’s mind entirely, the echo reverberating through his head hasn’t quieted. It’s Five’s voice, it’s Dave’s.

_I killed him._

He wants to rip his skull open and tear it out, but it won’t go away.

_I killed him._

He should have questions. Any normal person, upon finding out that their brother had killed their lover during his time as a time traveling assassin, would have questions.

Klaus doesn’t have questions.

That dream… he can already feel it slipping away. Every part except for the end. All that blood on the tile, his brother’s icy, childish stare. Those things won’t go away.

He considers laying down, but there’s a sizable puddle of bile and vodka a few feet to his right, and if he’s going to pass out again, he’d prefer it wasn’t in that. Maybe he’ll find a better alleyway to hide out in.

He starts to struggle to his feet, but barely gets upright before falling back on his ass, the world spinning before his eyes.

Force of habit sends his hands up to clutch Dave’s dog tags. They’re cool to the touch, but he feels nothing beyond that. His breath doesn’t even out, his mind doesn’t clear. The tags, once a source of comfort, feel alien now.

He won’t take them off- he can’t- but he won’t be able to clutch them for balance anymore.

“You can’t stay here.” Ben, usually so judgemental when Klaus relapses, is gentle. “Why don’t we find somewhere to actually sleep? We could go to the shelter, even.”

Klaus breaks his silence. “Fuck that place,” he slurs. “Never again.”

Ben perks up at the sound of his voice. “How about we call someone? Vanya, or Diego, maybe. They can come pick you up.”

“And take me to th’ Academy. Right?”

“No, not necessarily,” Ben squats in front of him. “They still have their apartments, they could take you in for the night. They won’t ask too many questions.”

Klaus laughs bitterly. “That so?”

“I won’t sit here and watch you do this to yourself. I’ve been doing that for over a decade. Klaus, I’m sick of it.”

“Hey. Not like I’m high, right?”

He knows Ben would usually roll his eyes at that. But he doesn’t; his serious gaze is  set. “I don’t know what you must be going through,” he says slowly, “But you can’t go through it without your family.”

“My f…  where you been?” He laughs again. “My family is the problem. My _family_ ki-“ he cuts himself off, drops his smile.

_Fix it yourself._

“I’m not doing shit.”

Ben’s begging him. “Nothing you say will make me leave.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“No- ten. Remember?”

Klaus sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Ten.”

One of the first times he’d been locked in the mausoleum, he’d come home and thrashed in bed all night, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but sweat and cry.

In the middle of the night, he heard his door open slowly. Klaus shrunk against the wall, expecting Reginald, bracing himself to be dragged out of the house and thrown to the ghosts.

Ben padded in silently and sat down cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Klaus’ bed. He stayed there all night, still, not moving, not saying a word. For the next few years, he did that on the worst nights. Klaus never asked him to. He never spoke. He was just _there._

On the night before their eighth birthday, he remembers hearing Ben’s voice from the floor, for the first time since they’d started their silent routine.

“It’s because four and six make ten,” he’d said. “That’s why we’re friends.”

Ben never, ever left. Ben died and _still_ never left.

All these years later, Klaus owes him more than what he’s given him. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I just can’t.”

Ben nods sadly. He lowers himself to the ground and faces Klaus.

Tentatively, he asks, “In that crowd… he wasn’t there, was he?”

“No. He wasn’t there.”

They sit in silence, like when they were small.

 

  
  
_v. toes_

 

They’re driving toward the rougher part of town. They probably haven’t spoken one-on-one since before the apocalypse, but it doesn’t matter now.

Allison listens attentively as Diego lists all of Klaus’ spots on his fingers. They’re mostly bars, warehouses and glorified crackdens.

“And don’t forget,” Diego says, “All the curbs, benches, alleys and dumpsters _around_ those places. He’s not one to stick around.” He speaks matter-of-factly. “If we don’t find him there, we’ll check my apartment. He likes to sneak in the window and risk a broken ankle.”

“Do you- do this a lot?” Allison asks.

Diego purses his lips and stares out the window for a long minute, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I… well, none of us kept in touch after moving out of that fucking house, as you obviously know, based on your wedding that we had to read about in the paper.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry-“

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he waves her off. “Don’t think any of us would’ve gone, anyway.“ He takes a deep breath, and leans his head back on the headrest.

”So,” he starts shakily. “I was seeing this girl. Eudora. We were on and off for a long time- years. But I was always serious about it... I don’t think she ever knew that.”

His eyes are glassy, his fingers itching for a rabbit’s foot that’s sitting in his room back at the academy. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“Anyway, this was about five years ago; she was just a beat cop then. And every once in a while I’d swing by the station to give her a hard time. This one day, I go in there, and she’s got _no_ patience for me. Which is saying something, because I drove her fucking nuts. But she’s literally trying to push me outta the station. She tells me that her boss had just pulled off this massive drug bust. Hundreds of pounds of cocaine lining the walls of some condo. And since she was still new, she got shit detail. This was when I still had all these fantasies of being a cop, so I asked her what could possibly be shit detail on a drug bust. She just…” he smiles, almost wistfully, “She rolled her eyes at me. She said ‘I got junkie duty.’”

Allison cringes. “‘Junkie duty?’”

“Yup,” Diego says, “When they raided the place, they took in everybody that was inside- they need as much evidence as they can get on the man in charge, right? So they drag in a parade of strung-out party animals and try to get anything usable out of them. Eudora tells me she’s stuck interviewing the- and I’m quoting- ‘most difficult, unhelpful, annoying asshole in the world, other than you.’”

Allison can’t help but laugh. “And it was, of course…”

“Oh yeah,” Diego chuckles too, despite himself. “He’s handcuffed in a chair next to her desk. And of course, he sees me. He starts shouting my name, trying to wave at me. He was wearing this, like, beach dress. I hardly recognized him- I hadn’t seen him in, what, seven years at that point? I would’ve probably bolted if it wasn’t for the fact that he was telling every cop in the city that I was his big brother, come to rescue him, all that… Klaus shit, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Last time I was in the city, I was filming by the docks, and he plowed through the barriers and interrupted mid-scene.”

“He did?” Diego grins.

“He started pulling me away, announcing to the whole crew how vital it was that he and I catch up over a trip to Bloomingdales,” she smiles at the memory. “Honestly, if I hadn’t been in the middle of a shoot, I might’ve gone.”

“Little shit gets under your skin, doesn’t he?” Diego fidgets as they pull up to a red light. He seriously considers running it.

“So,” he goes on, “The whole station knows now that this is my brother. And Eudora isn’t about to let that opportunity go to waste, so she drags me to her desk and makes _me_ question him with her.”

“Which was useless, I assume.”

“Completely useless. He’s way past any drug bust. He was asking me about my life, where I’m living. He picks up on me and Dora, and starts telling me what good taste I have, whatever. Complimenting her jewelry. Like I said- Klaus shit. But then…” the light turns green as Diego reaches the somber portion of his story.

“It turns out that when the cops had shown up to this place, they thought he was dead. He was passed out in a hallway with a needle sticking out of his foot, right between the toes. Almost swallowed his own tongue. They had to resuscitate him then and there.”

Allison’s hand finds its way to her chest. “Jesus. Why wasn’t he in the hospital?”

“They don’t take addicts to emergency rooms, most of the time. They saved his life, but that’s about it. It’s not like he’s got insurance. He didn’t have an ID, social security, nothing. And he was telling me all this with a big grin on his face, but he looked… I don’t know, _hollow_. Then I realized how alone he was. Just- in every way you can be alone.”

He pulls into a narrow side street by a warehouse, one he’s dragged Klaus out of before.

“He didn’t say so, but he was just counting down the days till he overdid it and no one would be there to save him. So I listed myself as his emergency contact. Gave him a place to sleep. Of course, he was gone by morning, with one of my boxing trophies.” He sniffs. “That’s how I got started with the vigilante thing, actually. I bought a police scanner so I could be there the next time they picked him up. Or if they… found him.”

He doesn’t explain that any further; he’s done enough thinking on the topic of Klaus’ death for a lifetime.

“And while I waited to hear from him, I’d hear about all these other lives that could be saved if the police weren’t such pricks. And I decided to do something about it.”

He pulls over and looks up at the battered building. “But in between all the robberies and muggings I’d stop, I’d find Klaus. Drag him home, clean him up, wait for him to run, repeat.”

“Not a lot of brothers would do that,” she says quietly. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Diego’s at a loss. He doesn’t know how to tell Allison that it goes both ways- how when Eudora told him it was over for good, he’d worked it out with Klaus over a drink or eight. How Klaus, even at his most out of it, tells the best jokes and gives the best hugs, when Diego permits it.

How, for all his shortcomings, Klaus is the only one there for him, too.

So he just says, “Let’s go find him.”

He gets out of the car.

 

_vi. moons_

 

Five has spent the better part of four decades obsessing over one day when he was thirteen and too headstrong to listen to his father’s orders.

He lives a life fueled by regrets, but that one had followed him, looming as he trudged through the wasteland that he’d created for himself. Even after joining the Commission, nothing he did ever brought him pain- simply because nothing could ever come close to that one, original mistake.

So to feel that way now is almost a refreshing change of pace.

He’s standing silently while Vanya and Luther argue.

“We have to go,” she’s insisting, “I don’t understand how you can just sit here."

“Because we don’t know what we’re up against-“

“You mean _Klaus?”_

Luther runs a gloved hand over his face. “No- we don’t know what _he’s_ up against. We don’t understand his powers, or how he’s dealing with them. I don’t want to ambush him,” he sighs and looks at her pointedly. “I learned the hard way that that doesn’t work.”

Vanya stands down.

“Besides,” Luther says, “For all we know, he could be coming back here. We should be waiting if he does.”

Five can hear the portions of conversation that would usually make him roll his eyes, or teleport away with a huff. But right now, he just feels _drained._ Like when he was a child and Reginald would have him teleport over and over again, further and further, until he would land on his hands and knees, shaking like a leaf.

His father would saunter over to where he was crumpled, and look down at him disapprovingly.

 

_“Again, Number Five.”_

 

_“But-“_

 

_“Again.”_

 

He feels like that now, too.

He forces himself to speak. “Luther’s right. Someone should be here." 

Vanya crosses her arms with concern. “And… you’re sure that someone should be you?”

Five clenches his jaw. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what to say to Klaus when- or if- he sees him again. “No. If he comes back, I’ll get out of the way. I imagine he needs time.”

He remembers Klaus’ face at Griddy’s.

“I need to think. I’ll be in my room.”

A moment later, he sits on the edge of his bed, wishing he had Delores to talk to. She would understand; probably better than he could. As she loves to remind him, she’s a lot smarter than he is.

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts.

“Five…? Can I come in?”

He sighs. “Fine.”

Luther stoops to fit his massive frame through the door. He stands awkwardly for a long moment.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

Five nods and moves to the side to give Luther a wide space next to him.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” he says. “Or what to think. But I just want to say that… everything you did, you did to get back to us.”

Five snaps his head up to look at his brother.

“And there isn’t anything wrong with that. Obviously, the- killing- that’s bad. But… you had a good reason. And I think, in your position, any of us would have done the same thing.” He takes a deep breath. “Including Klaus.”

“Even if that were true,” Five says, his voice thin. “It doesn’t excuse-“

“No,” Luther says quickly. “It doesn’t excuse it. But it does explain it. And I think that Klaus will understand that. You’re a good person, Five. I’ve said that to you before, and I still believe it now. Nothing will change that. For any of us.”

Five doesn’t entirely believe him, but every word out of Luther’s mouth drips with unbearable sincerity. Even if it’s not true, at least one person thinks it is.

“Thank you.” He stiffly replies. “I’d like to be alone now, if that’s alright.”

Luther nods and gets up.

Five does him the courtesy of not laughing when he hits his head on the doorframe.

 

_vii. listing_

 

They split up; Diego breaks into the warehouse while Allison checks in the side streets. After twenty minutes, they move on to the next of Klaus’ haunts.

No luck there, either. They check three more spots, and it’s pitch-black out by the last time they regroup at the car. “What next?” Allison asks.

Moments like these are when Diego wishes he was the hero he pretends to be- he has no clue what to do next.

“Let’s…” he says slowly. “Let’s retrace his steps from Griddy’s. Maybe we’ll find, I don’t know. A clue, or something.” He winces. He feels unbelievably stupid, searching for Klaus like a Scooby Doo cartoon. But what else is there to do?

He pulls back into the parking spot at Griddy’s he’d left this afternoon, what feels like weeks ago.

He shows Allison the direction Klaus had gone. “Problem is, there were ghosts clogging up the street. I couldn’t see him, so how do we know where he went from here?” Diego points out, asking the empty air.

They split up again- Allison on one side of the street, Diego on the other.

“So, what?” Allison calls from across traffic. “We just walk till we find him?” Too loud; she feels something in the back of her throat twinge. She tries to talk again, but comes up with a dry wheeze.

Diego looks over his shoulders. “You got a better idea?”

Allison shakes her head and starts walking.

 

_viii. alley sonata no. 2_

 

Diego gets a text.

_across the street. in between 202 and 204._

He bolts across, not waiting for cars. As soon as he reaches 202, he’s hit with a horrible smell.

“Allison? Klaus?” he calls out.

“Ssh!” the voice that shushes him is weak.

Diego covers his nose and turns into the alley. Allison is up against the brick wall, legs splayed out in her expensive white pants. Leaning his head on her shoulder is Klaus.

She uses the hand not pressed against Klaus’ sleeping face to point to the puke Diego’s about to step in. He stops.

She uses her free hand to send him another text.

_he was passed out cold and he wouldn’t wake up. I lost my voice or I would have shouted for you_

“It’s okay,” he reassures her. “Do you think he’s alright? Physically?”

_for a second I really thought was gone. I even tried to rumor him awake but it didn’t work. he’s just OUT_

“Goddamnit, Klaus,” Diego mutters. “Let’s get him outta here.” He steps over the vomit and throws Klaus over his shoulder like a rag doll.

_where to now? academy?_

“No. Not yet.”

  
  
_ix. not, not, not_

 

Klaus doesn’t have another dream about Dave. He wakes up slowly from a silent black sleep. The ceiling above him is patterned with water stains, the brick wall next to him gritty and undecorated. He’s woken up here many times.

“Guess you found me,” he mumbles to the stains.

He turns his head to the chair where Diego is probably flipping a knife impatiently, and is met with his sister.

She holds up her phone and points to Klaus. _Check your texts,_ she mouths.

“Sorry, Al. If my phone wasn’t dead, you would’ve found me much sooner, seeing that Diego’s got a tracker on it- he won’t admit it, but he does.”

Allison smiles warmly, sadly. There’s pity in her eyes. Klaus doesn’t know how to feel about that; on one hand, he doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want a swarm of condolences and apologies and he doesn’t, _doesn’t_ want to rehash Dave’s death with his entire family again.

But on the other hand: he’s been waiting his entire life to feel like his siblings care about him. To know that if he fucked up, if he overdosed, if he died, they would feel something. So seeing anything in Allison’s eyes now, even pity, is something of a dream come true.

Klaus forces himself to sit up. “Where’s Diego?”

She types a note on her phone that she holds out to him.

_Getting mom._

“Mom?” he asks incredulously. “Mom doesn’t leave the grounds.”

_Diegos been letting her out lately. he wants her to have a look at you_

The unspoken words hang in the air: She’s coming here so that Klaus won’t go there.

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’m just hungover.”

Allison raises her eyebrows at him.

“God, don’t give me that face. I didn’t take anything, I swear. I drew the line at blackout drunk; Nothing illegal is in my system.”

She doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, not that Klaus is surprised. He rubs his eyes and reaches for Diego’s phone charger at the foot of the bed. After a minute, Klaus’ cracked screen lights up with dozens of missed calls and texts from Diego, Allison, Vanya, and even Luther. “Really missed me, huh?” he remarks dryly.

Something occurs to him. Tentatively, he opens the conversation labeled ‘Klaus Hargreeves’.

He scrolls up, through text after text he’d sent himself, meant for Dave’s eyes. His breath catches in his throat.

He remembers it now. He reads the text, and reads it again, and reads it again.

_we should have danced more_

It’s what Dave had said in his nightmare; the thing Klaus had supposedly told him before. Apparently, he had. He shuts his eyes heavily. He opens them only when he feels his hand being taken by Allison’s. She’s kneeling in front of him, with that same sad smile. Klaus wonders if she remembers the day when he’d asked her to rid him of his powers. This moment, here, is an echo of that one.

A voice invades his head from out of nowhere. A voice that can shatter. “Shit, Klaus. You don’t look so good.”

Standing directly behind Allison, looking down at him, is Klaus’ official least favorite person in the world. He yanks his hands away from Allison and digs their heels into his eyes. “Well, look who decided to show up,” he grumbles so she won’t hear. Wearily, he drags his gaze up to the hazy figure that is so frustratingly, infuriatingly, tragically _not Dave._

Not-Dave drifts away, leaving Klaus to grapple with how much seeing him hurts more now. Abruptly, Klaus finds himself blurting: “I wanna go back.”

He looks up. Allison cocks her head to one side. “ _What?_ ” she mouths.

“I want to go back to the Academy. I want to talk to Five.”

 

  
_x. verdicts_

 

They wait for Diego to return, leading Grace by the arm and holding her massive first aid kit. They don’t make it down the basement steps before Klaus is turning them back around.

Diego, Allison, and Grace all seem hesitant at the idea of taking Klaus back to the Academy. Klaus sits in the backseat of Diego’s car, aware of the uneasy looks that keep being thrown at him. Even Grace, usually so noncommittal, suggests they stop somewhere first and catch up. Diego must have told her everything. 

The only one that seems to think that going back is a good idea is Ben. He’s always been a peacemaker, and a bit too optimistic about their family, if you ask Klaus. It’s what got him killed. He sits next to Klaus in the car and speaks encouragingly, but there’s no way he believes all of what he says.

They walk into the Academy in a tense clump, and Vanya and Luther meet them at the door. Klaus looks past them, at the wide wooden staircase. And, dangling above it: the chandelier.

_Fix it yourself._

Vanya is talking to him, but he can’t hear her. His eyes still trained above him, he asks: “Where’s Five?”

“F-five?” she says weakly. “He’s upstairs. Are you sure you want to-“

“Yeah.” He looks down at her. “I do.”

Vanya wordlessly asks the rest of their siblings if it’s a good idea. “I’ll go get him,” she says, after none of them seem to know. As she makes her way up the staircase, Klaus wanders into the library. He considers making a drink, but decides against it. A bottle of vodka is enough for one day. He’s vaguely aware of his family trailing behind him, like he’s a bomb about to go off.

They should know him better by now. He’s not a violent person.

Then again, if the sibling he’d always cared the least about suddenly returned from a year fighting in the Vietnam War, he might have his reservations, too.

He hears a soft _whoosh_ from the doorway. Klaus forces himself to turn around, all his courage falling away in one fell swoop. The rest of the family stands back as Five and Klaus face each other, ten feet and five decades apart.

He hadn’t planned out any words. He finds himself breathing out the same question he’d asked Five at the diner.

“Why did you tell me?”

Five is more unkempt than Klaus has ever seen him; his hair unruly, his tie loosened. His jacket is nowhere to be seen. There are dark circles under his young eyes. He inhales the kind of deep inhale that only the old and experienced can manage.

“Because I would want to know if it was me.”

“But it’s not,” Klaus hears his voice crack.

Five shakes his head. “No. It’s not.”

The tension in the air is suffocating. Everyone in the room thinks he’s about to lunge at Five, he can see it in how they’re standing. They’re ready to hold him back. As if, of the two of them, he’s the killer.

Five doesn’t look how he’d looked in Klaus’ dream, cold and unapologetic. That dream. He wants to only remember the first part- the farmhouse with the colorful staircase. The room with the vinyls. Lilac wine. He can't piece together anything else that doesn't ache to picture. And suddenly, he _does_ feel mad. Livid that it was all taken away from him before he had the chance to even come close. And that Five, the living weapon that had torn his life apart, could even attempt to understand how Klaus feels.

He should know, better than anyone, how time can change and obliterate.

_Oh._

Something dawns on Klaus. A request that any reasonable person would say no to, but one he won’t leave here without. He raises his head up and sniffs. His courage is coming back, riding up from the ground, spreading through his veins like heroin.

“Take me back,” he says brusquely.

Five flinches. “What?”

“Use your power. Take me back. And I can undo it.”

The room is frozen.

“Klaus,” Five says cautiously, “I can’t do that; the timeline is fragile.” He sees that Klaus will let him continue. “If you were to save him, there could be… catastrophic consequences. Not to mention the hole you could rip through time if you were to encounter a past version of yourself.”

Klaus won’t be swayed. This is going to happen, whether the space-time continuum likes it or not. “Fine. Then take me further. Back before the war, and I can stop him from going.”

“This could be dangerous,” Ben warns.

“Who cares,” he says, and doesn’t bother to tell the rest of the group who he’s talking to. He turns back to Five. “Take me back.”

“Klaus, I- no. I’m sorry. No.”

“I won’t give anything away. I just need to keep him from going to Vietnam in the first place.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Some of Five’s trademark condescension begins to sneak back into his voice. “Did he volunteer to fight? Or was he drafted?”

Klaus doesn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought. How do you plan on convincing him to dodge the draft?”

It’s a standoff now, and neither of them are going to back down. The tension snaps with a small “I think he wouldn’t have to.”

Everyone snaps toward Vanya, who had just spoken. “They picked people at random- right, Klaus?”

Klaus nods. He remembers hearing about it nonstop. “From a ball. Like bingo.”

Diego chimes in. “You’re saying that they could stop Dave from being drafted in the first place.”

“Why not?” Vanya says. “All you need to do is shift one person’s hand- what? Half an inch?”

“It’s too risky- who’s to say we don’t endanger our lives and time itself, just to have his name be picked again later?” Five insists.

But Klaus won’t hear it. The idea that Dave would be able to walk away, that the only truly deserving person he’d ever known would get to _live,_ is too intoxicating a prospect to drop. “You’re taking me,” he says with every ounce of energy he still has.

“And you would allow him to live out his days- having never even met you?”

Klaus doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t know how. Faced with his two options: keep living knowing that Dave died how he did, or wipe himself from Dave’s life altogether, he realizes how shitty they both sound. But only one will let him live with himself.

Five glances at each of his expectant siblings, all waiting for his answer.

He shakes his head. “God. Fine,” he holds a hand out to Klaus. “For you.”

Klaus doesn’t accept his peace offering, but thanks him.

“I have to work out some probabilities first. If we do this, we need a plan. One we can stick to,” Five launches into business mode. “Give me a few hours.” He disappears in a flash.

“Yeah, sure,” Klaus remarks to the empty air. “No rush.”

True to his word, no one sees Five until morning, when he appears at the top of the stairs. Klaus pokes his head out of his bedroom door, where he’s been pretending to sleep. “Where are you going?” he calls.

Five turns. “Library.”

“So. Are we still…?” Klaus asks tepidly.

“We’re still going. But we’re going to do it right."

Five returns around midday, and Klaus is at the edge of his rope. Sitting around while Five reduces Dave’s life to a mess of equations is hard enough- doing it all night has been agony.

He marches right up to where Klaus is perched on the kitchen counter. “Ready?” he says simply.

Klaus nods furiously. “What do I have to do?”

“I worked it out. You were right about how they drafted their soldiers; the date is public record, so all we have to do is teleport into the room before they get there and shuffle the papers around.”

“Why can’t we take out his name completely?” Klaus protests.

“We won’t have enough time,” he brushes him off, “But this is all under the assumption that we can get there in the first place.”

Klaus jumps down from the counter. “Wh- what do you mean? You think we-“

“I don’t know. The farthest I’ve ever gone without a briefcase was when I deserted and came back here. And look what happened- I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen year old and didn’t even end up in the right year.”

This is news to Klaus. “You- what?”

“You think I wanted to show up _eight days_ before the apocalypse? I wanted to have a few _years_ to work it out, but time travel is so damn unpredictable that I ended up giving us a week,” he says, “And that was when I was by myself, after months of planning. Now, I’ll have you, and almost none at all.”

“Sounds fun. Let’s go,” Klaus ignores his twitching fingers.

Five’s nostrils flare as he looks up at Klaus warily. He inhales. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  
  
_xi. december eighth, or,_

_alley sonata no. 3_

 

This is Klaus’ third trip through time, and it isn’t any easier.

He falls out of the portal head first, and lands harshly on his hands and knees. “Fuck!”

“Ssh!” hisses Five, standing firmly on two legs beside him. He hauls Klaus up by his armpits and helps him regain his footing on the empty sidewalk.

“Where are we?” Klaus asks.

The buildings lining the city street look old; townhouses with aging exteriors lined up next to a squat laundromat and a cafe, a thrift store and a barbershop in an ugly strip mall. Five leads Klaus towards the latter, saying over his shoulder: “Washington, D.C.”. They poke their heads into the barbershop, where a white haired man is giving a shave. Klaus shoves the thought of Reginald out of his mind. It’s not of any use.

“Sorry, Sir,” Five chirps in a voice that is very un-Five. “My big brother and I were just wondering if you had today’s date?”

“December 8th,” he barks.

Five’s eyes widen. He doesn’t thank the barber, but bolts back out of the shop, Klaus close behind. “Shit. Shit, shit, _shit,”_ he’s cursing under his breath as he begins to pace. “I knew this was going to happen,” he says, “I got it wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Alarm bells blare in Klaus’ ears. “How wrong?”

“We’re too late,” Five answers grimly. “His name was chosen last week.”

Klaus’ stomach drops into his feet. “No. Just take us back, can’t you just take us back?” he speaks a little too loudly, drawing the attention of a man walking out of the cafe.

“I can’t _just_ time travel, Klaus. It’s dangerous and it’s unpredictable. It’ll be hard enough to get us back to our time,” Five says, clearly deep in thought. He steps out of the way of the man walking by, who glances quizzically over his shoulder for just a moment. “Maybe if we found out who was in- holy hell.”

He takes a few steps past Klaus, who whirls to see where he’s looking. Five points a shaky finger at the back of the man who had just left the cafe. “That’s…” he swallows.

If he keeps talking, Klaus doesn’t know. He knows that back. He knows that hair, and that walk, and he knows it so well he doesn’t even pay attention to it when it brushes past him on the street. His blood is rushing in his ears as the spark in his chest he thought had died in the mud roars to life.

He thinks of a little girl on a forest path, pointing a finger.

“Dave,” he breathes.  In a flash, Klaus is tearing past the few pedestrians in his way to get closer. His throat is closing up, he can see him getting farther and farther, there’s a tingling in his fingertips, spreading to his wrists, he’s about to shout Dave’s name-

“Wait!”

Five appears directly in his path and almost topples him.

“That’s him!” Klaus says incredulously. “That’s Dave, it’s him, he’s… he’s Dave!” He can’t look away from Dave’s retreating form, which is getting smaller by the second as he slips away.

“You know you can’t talk to him.”

“Bullshit, I can’t talk to him,” Klaus scoffs, “Move.”

He moves to sidestep Five, and is blocked again. Dave is even further down the street; if he turns a corner Klaus may not find him again.

“Look at me,” Five snaps. He looks back and forth quickly between Klaus’ eyes. “Jesus.” He grabs his wrist. “How is this getting _harder_ for you to control?” The blue glow is fading now, but it’s there, clinging to the lines of Klaus’ veins on the top of his hand. Solemnly, Five says, “You have to calm down. And think. In this timeline, Dave has been drafted. He’s going to Vietnam. And who else will be in Vietnam…?”

Klaus knows what he’s supposed to say, and refuses to say it.

Five gets the message. “That’s right. You. So you approaching him now, and god forbid, him falling for you _here_ , could damage the timeline in uncountable ways. Especially if your powers are flaring up.”

“We came here _to_ change the timeline!”

Dave turns a corner, gone. No, no, no. Klaus cranes his neck to try in vain to see where he is.

“We came here to change an isolated event; a shift that would set time on a different course- not bat it around like a cat with yarn. Now, come on. We have to find somewhere to hide out before we can go back.”

Klaus hasn’t heard a word. He’s transfixed on the spot where Dave had disappeared down a sidestreet.

“Klaus. Come on.”

He looks at Five, standing expectantly. Surely he doesn’t really think Klaus is going to listen now? Surely he doesn’t think Klaus will refuse his instinct telling him to sprint after the only person he’ll ever love?

If he thinks those things, he’s about to be disappointed. Klaus bolts, his feet pounding the pavement so hard the rubber soles of his shoes might melt. He’s been out of shape since Vietnam, but he can still outrun an average thirteen year old. Maybe not one who can teleport.

Five appears in front of him again, and Klaus has no problem shoving him to the side and turning the goddamn corner that had taken Dave away from him.

There he is. This street is much busier, but through the businessmen and families and cars and trucks, he’s there.

Across the street, he’s leaning on a newsstand, reading a newspaper with mild interest. Klaus freezes, almost stumbles from the sight of it. It’s not a spirit, or a not-spirit, and it’s not a terrible, bloody dream. It’s just Dave. Looking how he looked when Klaus knew him. Living and breathing.

His reverie is broken by two small hands yanking him backwards into the alley just behind him. How many times is Klaus going to fall over in alleyways before he dies?

Klaus isn’t quick to anger, but the beginnings of it are swimming. Who is Five to take him back here, only to make him leave alone? “What do you not understand?” Five hisses. “You can’t let him see you. You can’t talk to him. You have to _leave him alone_ , you- what are you doing?”

He’s looking at the ground. It occurs to Klaus that his feet aren’t touching the asphalt below him, but hovering in midair. There’s something satisfying about the apprehension in Five’s eye now. “Clearly,” he says shakily, “Seeing Dave has… triggered some kind of reaction. So, then, does it make sense to you why we have to fucking _leave?”_

Klaus twists his neck to see where Dave stands, not fifty feet away. The street is growing more congested; it must be approaching rush hour. It becomes harder to see Dave, and Klaus worries that he won’t be able to keep track of him for much longer.

His feet drift back to the pavement, and right as they touch down, Klaus feels a pull in his gut, fast and hard. He blinks, and the alleyway is gone, replaced with the inside of a car. Klaus is gone too: the hands folded in his lap are not his own, but manicured and tan. Pearls lay on his collarbone. To his left, an older man is driving, telling him that he should marry that Rhode boy if he knows what’s good for him. Out the window, he sees Dave.

Klaus doesn’t have time to shout before he’s somewhere else, someone else. He’s made it all the way across the road. He’s standing against a wrought iron fence separating the sidewalk from a park. He can’t tell what he looks like, but he knows he’s old. An ache thrums and whines throughout his lower back, and his arms droop and crack with age. The hands clutching his cane are gnarled and brown. His vision isn’t very good, but he thinks he can make Dave out, twenty feet or so to his right, head still buried in the paper.

Thank God he’s such a slow reader, Klaus can’t help but think.

And he doesn’t know how he knows what to do next, but he does. He focuses as hard as he can on the short, squat man behind the counter at the newsstand.

It’s shockingly easy. He almost loses his balance under the weight of the new beer gut, the wideness of his feet. As soon as he recovers, he looks at Dave’s profile as he leans against the stand. He’s so close he could touch him.

But he doesn’t. Klaus can’t move a muscle in this body, it’s all he can do to stay standing. Because it’s Dave, it’s _Dave_ and he’s right there and he’s alive.  And those are his eyes. And his Adam’s apple and the hairs he forgot to shave on his chin and they catch the light. At this distance, the details are enough to keep Klaus from doing anything at all.

Dave knows when someone’s watching him. Klaus remembers that night in the clearing, sprawled out in Dave’s lap as he confessed his worries. _Someone knows about us. I can feel it_.

Obviously, he can feel it now. He looks up at Klaus through the side of his eye. “Everything alright?” he asks. “Am I short?”

“Y- I don’t-“ Klaus stammers lamely. Dave’s voice is filling up his brain like water.

“For the paper?” Dave asks again. “I paid enough, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah,” Klaus clears his throat, and tries to ignore how alien his own voice sounds. “Don’t worry.”

Dave smiles a wary smile, and returns to his paper. He can’t be done talking to him. It can’t be over that fast.

“So,” Klaus winces and tries, “What, um, what brings you to D.C.?”

The bright face darkens. Dave looks at his feet. “Draft,” he says quietly. “I have to report to basic training in South Carolina soon, but I decided to take in the capital first. Staying with an old friend over on 28th. I gotta say, though, now that I'm here- well, I'm not feeling too patriotic.... You alright, sir?” Dave looks concerned about him. Of course he does. Even while marching towards certain death, Dave is more worried about the emotional well being of a creepy newsstand cashier. “You look real upset.”

“Fine,” Klaus croaks, anything but fine. “I don’t mean to offend, but… have you given any thought to ditching it?”

Dave almost jumps. “Dodging? No. No, that’s not me. I mean- of course I _thought_ of it. Everyone thinks of it. But no. Besides, I need a change of scenery. Getting tired of this side of the Pacific.” He smiles, and Klaus thinks of Dave’s father, leaving him bloodied and wheezing on the floor. How he said he’d almost been relieved when he got his card. 

Dave laughs dryly. “Those Vietnam sunsets sound mighty fucking pretty, don’t they?”

_We watch them together. You like them more than I do._

“Yeah. I’m sure they are,” Klaus replies. 

Dave sighs and folds up the newspaper before facing Klaus. “Thanks for the paper, man. I look forward to buying another one, soon as I get back.” He holds his hand out for Klaus to shake. He takes it, and it’s _wrong_. It isn’t his hand clasping Dave’s, and even if it were, he’s a stranger. They’re strangers.

“Good luck,” Klaus says. Dave nods politely and heads down the street, leaving an ache in Klaus’ broad chest that grows with each step.

He stumbles backwards, grabbing onto the rim of the cart for balance. His breath shallows, and he thinks of his conversation with Five, in the alley across the street. _You have to leave him alone,_ Five had said.

Before he can think twice, Klaus feels himself pulled back to that alley, like a piece of gum being ripped off a chair. _Snap._

His vision is hazy, but he begins to make out Five leaning down over him after a moment. He feels the asphalt underneath his head. A pain shoots through his neck like a branding iron. His limbs have lengthened and thinned, so his bones poke out onto the street. Klaus Hargreeves, again.

“Klaus!” Five is all but shouting. “Are you alright?”

Klaus tests out his body, stretching his fingers. His neck feels as though someone began to cut his head off with a guillotine, and couldn’t manage to hack the whole way through. The ground beneath him is lurching back and forth with such severity that he has to screw his eyes shut to keep from vomiting. He can taste it at the back of his throat.

Five is talking, apparently. “-You started floating in the air, then you just collapsed. What the hell happened?”

Klaus gapes. His hands clutch the back of his neck. “I talked to him.”

“ _What_?” Klaus hasn’t opened his eyes, but he can hear his brother’s face: scrunched up, the way he does when someone says something truly stupid. Klaus does his best to explain; his trip from his own body to the girl in the car to the old man to the clerk. The sensation of being ripped out of his body and shoved into another like an ill fitting shoe. His limbs quiver against the asphalt that he’s not brave enough to part with. He takes deep breaths, and is able to look up to watch as Five listens raptly, eyes wide.

“You… Klaus, this is….” he runs a hand through his black hair and steps back. “You don’t understand this. This could be the most dangerous-“ he inhales, collects himself.

“Thanks,” Klaus replies, “Thanks for that.” He half-crawls to sit against the brick wall.

Five sighs. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“You know how you feel right after time traveling with a briefcase?”

“Of course.”

“It’s exactly like that, except for it’s worse. In every way.” He manages a tight lipped smile.

“Well, you better suck it up for the way back.”

Klaus shoots his gaze at Five, so quickly his head starts hurting. “Back?”

“Back to our time,” Five says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And it has to be soon, or else who knows-“

“No,” Klaus shakes his head fervently. “We’re saving him.”

Five scoffs. “I already told you. We missed the point of re-entry. He’s been drafted. And before you ask me to take you back to before he was drafted, I’ll remind you that I don’t have the time to calculate two more trips, and even if I did,” his lips started to turn up at the edges, how they do when he gets angry, “This has already been blown by you _speaking_ to him.”

“I wasn’t me!”

“Exactly,” he takes a step forward to loom over Klaus, who begins to seriously consider standing up. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a ticking time bomb. You have these abilities that you don’t even know exist, much less understand. And every time you lash out with these unpredictable variables, we run a bigger risk. One that we didn’t take seriously enough last time. And we all know how that worked out.”

“This is nothing like Vanya,” Klaus grabs what little grip he can find on the wall and tries to haul himself up. To no avail- as soon as he’s on his feet, stars cloud his vision and the world spins again and again. He crashes back to the ground, bracing himself for the bruise on his ass and scrapes on his palms.

They don’t come. He opens his eyes. He’s sitting, leaning back on his hands, on nothing at all.

“Jesus,” Five says, breathlessly. “You’re right. You’re not Vanya. You’re even _less_ predictable, and for all we know, you could be more dangerous. Who knows what else you can do.”

“I’m not…” he forces out the words, ignoring the feverish chills and dull ache dominating his senses. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

Five sighs. “Let’s get back to the Academy. We can start training again, taking into account all of these… new developments.”

“You go, and I’ll stay here. I’ll find Dave, I’ll tell him everything. I’ll explain it all. He said he’s staying on 28th Street, I can try my best and-“

“Explain the physics of time travel? You’re just trying to frustrate me now?” Five actually laughs. “You know what? Go ahead. Give it a shot.” His sarcastic smile is almost creepy. “I’d be really interested to see just how that destroys the functions of the universe. Then I can just sit back and watch you try and fix it yourself.”

 

Klaus blinks. _What did he say?_

 

Chandeliers. Nighttime and Nina and standing on Diego’s shoulders. Dad and Dave and chandeliers and bad dreams that aren’t really dreams at all. Things he can’t fix.  

Five says it again. He can’t mean to, says some small voice from very far away. But it doesn’t matter. “You’re the time traveler here, after all. You’ll be able to fix it all by yourself.” It’s the same voice as the one in his dream. He’s standing above Klaus, looking down, saying it with that same horrible childish voice.

Klaus can’t really fix anything. He never could. He shakes his head back and forth. “Don’t say that,” he mutters.

Five doesn’t hear him. “No. It’s going to fall on _me_ to fix it, like it always-“

“Stop that,” Klaus says louder. He presses his hands to his ears. “Don’t…”

What’s the saying about the straw and the llama’s back? No, that’s not right. Fix it yourself.

He’s starting to lose track of things. Fix it yourself. He’s in 1967, but he’s at the Academy. No. Not that. He’s at a donut shop, in 2019, with his brother. Fix it yourself. He’s been four people in the last twenty minutes. None of them fit quite right. Just fix it.

His world is a giant snowglobe, and Klaus is sitting at the bottom, watching the flakes come down, fast and thick. Each one contains flashes of his lives- ones he’s lived, and ones he never got to. They’re in no particular order, they go too fast to make sense of, and before he knows it, he’s up to his elbows. How very dramatic. He used to like drama.

 

Peace on Earth.

That’s so sweet.

 

_xii. crash!_

 

Klaus falls from his place in midair, like someone turned off a switch. It stops Five’s tirade in its tracks.

Five hears Klaus whispering, his eyes squeezed shut. “What’s that?” he tries, barely masking the irritation in his voice.

The truth is, he _is_ irritated. Irritated that Klaus won’t listen to him when it comes to time travel- a topic he could very well know more about than anyone in the universe. He’s irritated that Klaus is so sure he can succeed in saving Dave, when it’s both too early and too late.

As he waits for Klaus to answer, his frustration begins to melt away as he realizes that something is very wrong. “What are you saying?” he tries again. He takes a step toward his brother, who has thrown his hands over his ears.

“Klaus,” he raises his voice slightly, trying to shake Klaus out of his stupor. “Are you okay?” He still can’t begin to decipher what Klaus is muttering. He bends down to a squat, hoping he can read his lips. As soon as they’re eye-to-eye, Five falters again. The frantic whispering is still reverberating through the alley, growing louder even, but Klaus’ lips aren’t moving. Five opens his mouth to voice his disbelief when it clicks.

It doesn’t so much click, as much as a very real, ice cold hand clamps on his shoulder, and he turns around to be faced with a fully formed ghost.

It’s a ghastly sight- the man is older, gaunt looking, with an open wound creeping across his neck from ear to ear. The blood it gushes is a dark, murky blue.

The man looks as surprised to be touching Five as Five is to be touched, and squeezes again. Five swats his bony hand away and whirls back toward Klaus. The whispering is taking shape now. A cacophony of cries for help, wails for lost love, and, most repeatedly, shouts for Klaus as a steady stream of corporeal spirits trickle into existence around them. The man in question is darting his eyes wildly back and forth, from Five to the spirits to his toes to the narrow view of the sky above them. Five wrestles again for his attention.

“Focus on me,” he says as evenly as he can, “Let’s just stay calm.”

He can feel panic edging into his own voice- the kind of panic he usually reserves for apocalyptic matters. But he can feel him slipping; each time he catches his eye, the whispers swell. Some sort of static energy must be surging through Klaus, because Five tries to lay a hand on his arm and is met with a nasty shock.

He hadn’t been there the moment Vanya had snapped. But this can’t be too far off.

The moment the thought occurs to him, Klaus shouts and buries his face in his hands. The cry echoes unnaturally through the alleyway, and the ghosts fall silent as one.

_(Five read a book about natural disasters during his time in the apocalypse. By all accounts, sailors in old times would grow most afraid during a storm when the waves disappeared, when silence fell and the clouds stopped rolling. Because it meant their ship was about to be hit by a tempest strong enough to hurl them all into the sea.)_

The sounds from the street seem miles away as the quiet within the alley begins to roar in Five’s ears. He braces himself for whatever comes next, while clinging to his last bit of hope that maybe it won’t.

Klaus slowly, slowly raises his head. The color has drained from his face, and every vein trailing away from his eyes are pronounced- unnaturally, like someone drew them on with ink. His lips are white, and their awful paleness, Five realizes, has spread down to the rest of Klaus’ body.

He looks like a corpse.

The ghosts are facing them, expectant or eager or something else ominous enough to send most people running. But not Five. He, again, approaches his brother slowly. “I don’t…” Klaus says quietly. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

His eyes dart around quickly, and his irises are lighting up with tiny bursts of blue that arise and disappear in an instant, like looking into a lightning storm.

“It’s okay,” Five says. “We’ll figure it-“

Klaus blinks.

The world lights up, blindingly bright, then goes black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out with me on tumblr! shameful-shameless.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> and leave a comment if you like (i’d love to know how that dream sequence turned out...or any of it really)
> 
> grand finale coming soon! i PROMISE. I PROMISE


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